The Hell Back Home
by munchkinjenny05
Summary: Future fic, set post college. An emotionally damaged Quinn comes back to Lima, the last place she ever wanted or expected to return. She finds Santana in the same boat, and the two lost souls reconnect... Quinntana friendship leading to eventual romance.
1. Chapter 1

**This started out as a simple oneshot but grew and grew. The word count continues and it is so far unfinished, so I have broken it up into chapters. Here is the first, I hope you like it. I haven't done much Quinntana before, and what I have done is mostly friendship, but I'm pretty pleased with this. Couldn't resist a brief appearance from Puck because I love me some Quick….**

**Let me know what you think. Mostly cannon. Inspired by these lyrics from **_**"Comforting Sounds"**_** by **_**Birdy.**_

"_**Blunted and exhausted like anyone. Honestly I tried to avoid it. Back when we were kids, we would always know when to stop and now all the good kids are messing up. Nobody has gained or accomplished anything…."**_

Quinn never expected to be back on the streets of Lima with any degree of permanence. Fleeting visits for Christmas or thanksgiving were her limit and those were more as a result of the "home for the holidays" mentality that society dictated, than any genuine desire to reconnect on her part. Putting it bluntly, her supposed home was a house full of strangers that shared genetic characteristics, the same eyes or smiles. She didn't feel loved or accepted by her family, and ironically it was that feeling which helped to further cement the steady decline of all her relationships, including the break-up that had landed her back in this hell-hole and the Fabray's grasping clutches once again. They always wanted to meet her family. That was her downfall.

Alex was no different. They all took her refusals personally, as a negative reflection upon them. None of them realised that it wasn't them she was ashamed of. The arguments escalated until they morphed into something else. She was cold, aloof, unfeeling, and heartless; each boy always said the same thing and Quinn couldn't disagree. It was true, although she'd hoped that this time, with Alex, things would change, meaning that she would transform. As a couple, they had lasted almost 3 years together and Quinn allowed herself a glimmer of hope. He understood her she thought, unlike her other college flings. She could make things work this time. She would care and let him in, he would see all the darkest parts of her and he wouldn't run. It didn't happen that way. So, now she was back in Ohio, to stay. End of story.

Quinn prayed for somewhere else to go, but there was nowhere. She had no safe haven and that depressed her most all. It was her doing, but that didn't soften the blow. Rejection was still painful even if you had inflicted in upon yourself and given people no option but to respond in kind. The few friends she had made at college predictably dispersed after graduation the same way her high school friends had. Quinn expected nothing less; after all, she had kept her distance knowing that these connections had a shelf-life. She couldn't expect charity from people she had gone out of her way to ignore for the past year, life didn't work like that.

She sauntered back into the house where she'd grown up, feeling nothing. There was no rush of nostalgia or flood of happy childhood memories, only the same unrelenting emptiness. Perhaps because the building had been utterly gutted, repainted and remodelled until it bore little resemblance to the last time she had seen it months ago, much less in youth. Although Quinn doubted she would have felt much different if faced with an exact replica of the house she'd known. The bricks didn't matter. Her mother could change the wallpaper everyday if she liked, if that's what she needed to fill the hollowness in the base of her. Quinn envied her mother's ability to fill her life with activities and hobbies in order to chase fulfilment. No matter what she did, how busy she stayed, how hard she pounded the ivories or how much of herself she spilled into page after page of her notebook, Quinn couldn't wake up or make herself feel. That mysterious voice inside always reminded her that it was meaningless to try. She was Quinn Fabray, destined to be on standby, disconnected.

This town would only hamper her creativity, stunted though it was, further. Lima had always held her back, crushed her under its dark clouds. The only inspiration it ever offered was the yearning to break out and she had. "This is literally the worst place I could be right now." She muttered, her words carrying in the empty house. Sighing, she picked up her keys and slipped back out, walking aimlessly with her shoulders slumped against the wind.

"That's no good for your posture." She spun around looking for the source of the imposition. She was ready to tell them to fuck off, until she registered who it was that the voice belonged to, and then she bristled unable to speak. The effect of seeing Noah Puckerman was for her, akin to a cat having its tail trodden on. Even after all this time, with all the apparent water under the bridge, she found herself unable to look at him. Instead she kept her gaze trained on the toes of her battered sneakers. It had been 6 years since the end of Mckinley, longer since Beth, but hearing his voice it felt like yesterday. The scars burst open like fresh wounds and she wondered if they would ever heal and if she really wanted them too. "Come on, babe, don't I get a hello? I heard you were back and elected myself your official welcoming committee." Quinn didn't have to look up to know he was wearing that lopsided grin of his. She briefly wondered if Beth had that same smile, and pushed the thought away.

"Leave me alone." She replied tersely. "I'm not in the mood, okay."

"Q, Don't be like that. I get that being dumped and ending up at your parents house wasn't what you planned, so it's understandable that you're pissed but don't take it out of the Puckster. You know what they say about best laid plans, I forget but the point is, fuck it. You know you wanna have some fun with me this afternoon, don't fight it babe."

"Stop calling me babe! " Puck took a defensive step backwards at the outburst. "You have no idea about my plans; you don't know me anymore, if you ever did. We aren't friends. So, just stop. I don't want to have any fun with you, not this afternoon, not ever. Read my lips. NO." The words were excessively harsh but Quinn wasn't about to recant any of them. She turned away. "I'll be going this way now, Goodbye Puck." She marched away, ambivalent about the boy left standing open mouthed in her wake.

It was weird to feel the anger coursing through her veins. She had thought herself too closed off. Quinn hadn't expressed that level of emotion on the night Alex ended things. Her world as she had known it for years was being ripped apart, yet she didn't fight for it, cling to the pieces. She did nothing. She didn't scream or cry or beg. She didn't get angry or demand answers. The blonde sat unflinching on the end of the bed until he said his speech and nodded once, briefly to signal that she had heard. He called her a robot. He asked if she cared. Quinn didn't answer. She remembered that Finn had said something similar during their break-up years before. She had cried then, because she did feel, too much, that was the problem. Around the time she lost Beth for a second time she decided that would never happen again. She left her emotions behind in the abandoned apartment where she had expected to find her daughter. Shelby had gone, taken everything, and with her departure, she stole the vestiges of Quinn's already fragile heart. Quinn left her anguish behind in that vacant room; she had no use for it. Until today it seemed. Puckerman had stirred up the hornets' nest and typically was clueless about what he had done.

Quinn exhaled angrily, tearing her fingers through her hair. "Fucking Lima." It was habit more than hunger that drove her to Breadstix. It wasn't like there were an abundance of places to go. As she stepped inside, the blonde checked her reflection in the glass. She fully expected to see a teenage girl staring back at her because it was like stepping back in time. Nothing had changed. She thought that was possibly the most tragic news she had received since coming home. It was like the universe was trying to force her to face her past. She nearly turned on her heels and fled straight back out, but it had begun to rain, and the familiar smells were almost comforting. She slid into a faux leather booth, liking the isolation that the high sides offered. She got some strange looks as a lone figure in such a large space, but it wasn't busy enough for it to matter, and even if it had been she wasn't going to be forced into relocating. She was Quinn Fabray, she and the other Cheerioshad almost singlehandedly kept this place afloat back in the day. She might as well have her name etched on a wall plaque somewhere because of the money she had sunk into this restaurant.

"What can I get you?" She had been lost in her thoughts and didn't clock the waitress coming over.

"Uh…" She had no idea if the menu was the same, but considering the décor she figured it was safe to assume that it was. "I'll have a mineral water and-" her gaze flickered up to regard the waitress but her question was instantly forgotten when she recognised the face staring down at her. She was wearing the same bored, faintly hostile expression that she had been so fond of during high school, so there was no mistaking the girl. "Santana Lopez."

Santana looked up from her notepad; her sneer disappearing as she likewise identified the familiar blonde. She smirked. "I'm sorry, but that isn't on the menu." She hastily embraced Quinn, the smirk shifting into a genuinely pleased grin. "If it isn't Lucy Q, to what do we owe this royal visit? I'm wondering what we Lima losers could possibly have done to secure this honour. "

"Funny. Nice to see you haven't changed San."

"What can I say, you can't better perfection." She chuckled. "I'll be right back, I'm due about a million breaks so I'll just clear it with my manager and get out of this lame apron, then we can catch up." She was gone in a whirlwind. Quinn shook her head, unsure if she had imagined the exchange in some fit of hysteria. Before she could fully make up her mind, Santana was back, clutching a bottle of water and a plate of food. She placed them both on the scuffed tabletop in front of her former best friend.

Quinn surveyed the meal. "How did you know what I'd want, am I that predictable?" The Latina rolled her eyes in response.

"Just eat, you seem like you could use a hot meal. No bullshit, you look awful Q."

"Thanks." Quinn muttered. "You must have heard all the gory details. I'm assuming that the gossip grapevine is as active as ever. I've returned home humiliated, so excuse me if I'm not looking my best, it's hard to find time to book in at the salon when your life is disintegrating."

"Jesus, you haven't changed either. Still the same angsty little drama queen, huh? Quinn Fabray, life and soul of the party. I thought college might have removed that stick from up your ass, or at least loosened it a little." The two girls glared at each other in hostile silence for a few moments, the air crackled with palatable tension before they cracked up. Quinn was the first to smile. Same as always.

"I've missed you, Lopez."

"Me too. You always were my favourite sparring partner."

Quinn lowered her voice as though her next question was some big secret. "So, what, you're working here now, at our old favourite watering hole, how did that happen? I didn't even know you were back in town."

Santana sighed. "What gave it away, the little notepad or the apron? I'd have to be paid to get me to be nice to you." Quinn kicked her shin, smiling for a split second before her face turned serious again. "Long story short, it's been about 6 months. Let's just say you weren't the only one who got ditched. I thought if I could come back to the place where it all started, maybe I could figure out why it ended. I don't know, it was stupid, but anyway I've run out of money so I'm stuck here same as you."

Quinn's face contorted in shock. That was the last thing she expected. "Oh, my god, you and Brittany are over, I'm so sorry San. I thought you be married by now and be settled down, contemplating having ridiculously good looking babies. I was so sure you'd make it." The news was a huge blow. If her best friends couldn't last, what hope did anyone have?

"Yeah, me too. Really comforting words by the way Quinnie, you should be a counsellor or something. Ouch." She reached over and took the Latina's hand in hers, gently squeezing.

"I'm no good at all the touchy feely crap, you know that, I really do mean it though, I'm sorry. That sucks."

"No kidding." Santana looked like she was battling not to cry and Quinn shoved the napkin dispenser in her direction wordlessly. "I came home to find her fucking some dancer from her company. I thought all the men were gay, I guess I was wrong. It made it worse somehow, that it was a guy, as though I was always lacking, like our whole relationship was just a rehearsal for the real thing." The girl did cry then, but they weren't the loud sobs that Santana Lopez was known for, these tears were quiet, almost soundless. Quinn didn't know why, but that made it infinitely more heartbreaking to witness.

"You could have called me. I would've come." The look in the Latina's eyes implied she had. Quinn looked away horrified. "Oh my god, I'm such a bitch."

"You are, but you're my bitch and I'm glad you're here. Better late than never, right? You can start making it up to me by coming out tonight. Don't try and say no, the drinks are on you."

They went to the lone gay bar on the outskirts of Lima. Quinn was more than happy with the venue. She didn't tell Santana but she was a regular participant in the LGBT scene in college and beyond. She was straight but she liked how friendly and open everybody was and found that she didn't have to struggle for acceptance, it was just freely given. When, in a gay club, by the end of the night she was much happier after not having to put up with drunken frat boys grinding all over her. Gay men were much better dance partners and behaved like gentlemen. She usually laughed more after tangoing with them than she had during all of that preceding week. If she revealed any of this to Santana she would just tease her, calling her a repressed lesbian once more. She had spent much of high school urging Quinn to come out of the closet, snubbing her claims that she was truly only interested in boys.

On her third or fourth trip to the bar Quinn began to suspect that she had managed to locate the only straight guy in the place. The first time could have been professionalism; the second construed as politeness, but now there wasn't any doubt. She recognised the hunger in his eyes after years of identical looks thrown her way. Her indifference only seemed to excite them more ironically, she couldn't win and she was tired of the game. The blonde sighed because; it was typical, after going out of her way to avoid any that a man had found her anyway in the least likely of places. She took it as a karmic nudge.

"If the universe is so set on the idea then fuck it, just for tonight." She muttered as she primped in the grimy bathroom mirror. Quinn went back onto the floor, swinging her hips and catching his eye as she closed in. Suddenly she had a better idea, something much more satisfying than a random hook up. Leaning over the bar, she found his ear, whispering huskily. "What time do you get off?" His eyes widened at the change in tone, and Quinn had to resist rolling her eyes and walking away because it was all so corny and bordering on pathetic. Just once, she'd like a guy to give her the brush off instead of stringing it out into a messy, entanglement before realising she wasn't worth the trouble.

"Right now." He shot back, staring at her lips intently. He grabbed a bottle of something off the bar and stepped out from behind it, slipping his arm around the slender blonde with a smile. Quinn used a kiss to swallow whatever biting retort was trying to break through as a result of this whole painting by numbers exchange. The stranger was quite a good kisser, so she dove in again before wriggling out of his grasp. In one swift movement she took his wrist and freed the bottle, before walking away with a smirk.

"Great, have a nice night, and thanks for the drinks." The words flowed casually over her shoulder, finding his general direction. He gawked at her in utter confusion before realising he had been duped.

"Hey, where are you going?" He followed and tried to snatch back his contraband. Quinn held fast. "Stupid slut, give me that back."

Quinn carried on walking unflinching. She had called herself worse. "It takes one to know one, man whore." She stared him down with the full force of her patented icy glare and he cowered slightly. "Now, if you value being a wage-slave in this hovel on any level, I suggest you get back in your cage before your boss, who is looking by the way, clocks your little stunt." Being a Fabray had taught her a thing or two about put-downs, and her friendship with Santana had only continued that education.

"I'm going nowhere without that liquor." He sounded far from certain, almost shuffling from foot to foot.

"Your choice, enjoy unemployment. See how far your half-assed bad boy routine gets you then." Quinn waited smugly as the boss approached, having witnessed an employee apparently arguing with a customer.

"Kyle, what are you doing on the floor, your shift doesn't end until 3. Do you know this girl who seems to be intent in carrying off some of my best booze?" Quinn flashed a brief smile, catching the lie and knowing she had him over a barrel.

She swooped in. "Oh yes, we are old friends aren't we Kyle? He's such a sweetie, I came here with my best friend who's unfortunately nursing a broken heart at the moment and he offered to cheer her up, with this. Isn't that just the nicest thing?" Her charm offensive was in full force and the manager grinned.

"Delightful, I had no idea he was so sensitive. You must bring out the best in the boy."

"So I've been told. Anyway, my friend will be missing me, so I should go. Have a good night and thanks again. I hope to see you soon Kyle." She disappeared into the crowd of writhing bodies.

Finding Santana, she plonked her prize down triumphantly with a thump. "Jesus Q, you take your job as drink provider seriously don't you?" Quinn nodded.

"Well, if you don't want it, I can find someone else willing to share…"

Santana shook her head and lurched towards the bottle so quickly that it was a miracle she didn't fall onto the table during the scuffle. "No way, this has got Santana Lopez all over it, me gusta!"

"You deserve it." Quinn stated quietly, her eyes shining with awe as the Latina unashamedly lifted the neck of the bottle to her lips and sucked greedily.


	2. Chapter 2

**The flurry of alerts that the first chapter inspired was amazing. Also, it means a lot when people take the time to review, so thank you. Glad people out there are reading and enjoying. I hope you like this chapter as much; sorry it's not as long. I refuse to say sorry for heaping on the angst, it's what I do, even as it makes my heart hurt. There are some brief shiny moments of joy though. PANCAKES!**

**Also, credit to my beloved **_**Santitaomily,**_** my fellow bone sister for inspiring me during the whole Brittana break-up reveal. Brittany's behaviour fell out of her awesome brain and floored me, so I had to include it…**

**I already had this written when it was a oneshot hence the quick upload. The others will take longer so bear with me. Enjoy!**

Quinn's eyes flickered open and she was immediately floored by the worse hangover that she had ever experienced. Fortunately though, the stupor hadn't wiped her memories, and her brain replayed last night's slideshow before her eyes as she lay there, making it seem worth it. She had cheered up the Latina and herself somewhat too, so she'd deal with the headache cleaving her skull into pieces. It was a fair trade. She moistened her lips and immediately regretted it, the lingering sweetness of last night's overindulgence triggering a dry heave. The girl dragged herself out of bed and into the shower to wash away her sin.

Rejuvenated, by the warm water and steam Quinn sought out something to fill her empty stomach, recalling that she had left the bulk of its earlier contents on the pavement. There wasn't much food in the house, not that she was surprised, the only thing her mother was intent to consume seemed to be margarita mixes and her father was absent almost as much as the prodigal daughter herself. Going out really was the only viable option, and she knew just the place. "Suck it up Lopez; you're putting the customers off their breakfasts!" The Latina sunk into the other girl's arms, clinging to her like a drowning victim.

"I feel like death. Help me. I'm not kidding; I've thrown up 14 times…"

Quinn slid into what had fast become her usual booth. "Thanks for the imagery; I guess an omelette is out of the question now." Santana just groaned. "Bring me some black coffee, pancakes with maple syrup and two orders of bacon, extra crispy." She watched her friend go pale, almost green and did her best not to laugh. The food arrived promptly and Santana hid alongside her in the booth as Quinn ate, lying down as much for her own comfort as avoiding detection. "Sorry San, this is all my fault."

Santana scowled, not lifting her head. "You don't sound sorry, you sound gleeful. Smug bitch, how can you be feeling well enough to eat that crap, I swear you drank more than me."

"Because you're a lightweight. Here, have some of my pancakes." She raised her fork in the direction of her sprawled out friend. Santana shook her head, making a move towards the last rasher of bacon. "I said, PANCAKES." The blonde slammed her fork back down, the prongs narrowly missing the back of Santana's hand.

"Fuck Fabray, calm down, I won't touch your precious pig products, jeez. If you were any kind of friend you would give a dying girl your last piece, what happened to Christian charity?"

"Charity begins at home. Loving you is a job for Jesus, that's his deal; personally I think you're too far gone, you skank." She laughed, stuffing the bacon into her mouth. "Also, you must be forgetting that I don't share my breakfast, never have, and never will."

"Hey! I'll have you know that I'm a model of chastity and virtue." Both girls gave into hysterics and Santana only sniggered louder as she watched Quinn almost snort coffee out of her nose. "Besides I wasn't the one ripping-off hapless bartenders with my luscious lips."

"First of all, I didn't hear you complaining last night and secondly, I'm flattered that you think my lips are kissable, but I refuse to apologise for using my feminine wiles." Quinn didn't look up from her plate. She finished off the last scraps of her breakfast, chuckling softly.

"Whoa, I never said, kissable."

Quinn winked. "Save it Santana, you know you want me. It's old news."

She spent the rest of the day dragging herself around the benchmarks of Lima, such as they were, allowing the fresh air to disperse the residual effects of her hangover. Soon, aside from tiredness, she was the same old Quinn again. Not that she considered that to be much of a blessing. Being Quinn Fabray hadn't been something to brag about for a long time, even when she had the prospect of reinventing herself in college, she squandered it. The blonde had been rendered too hopeless by then. Lima had already chewed her up and spat her out. Everything that had happened here was like an albatross around her neck. She had heard somebody once declare that high school defines people, and for Quinn that certainly seemed true. She had been branded a Lima loser through and through; by herself more frequently than anyone and no matter how far she went, she was aware that her fortunes had already been made and lost in this town.

It was the location of her greatest achievement and biggest mistake simultaneously, Beth, her daughter, a little girl she'd never really had a chance to know and probably wouldn't even recognise these days if they met on the street. She visualised spending the afternoon tracking down Puck. They could talk like he had wanted and she could ask if he had heard anything. After all, there was a slim possibility that he might be in touch again. He hadn't given up, at least not the last time they'd spoken. Quinn was practically on the boy's doorstep when she realised how absurd she was being. No matter what he revealed, it wouldn't fix anything, there was no magic cure. It was over. Racking over the past didn't mean that she could amend it, thinking otherwise was agony. So, the blonde fled, blinded by bitter tears.

When Santana found her curled up in bed after her shift, she blamed the second wave of her hangover and if the girl saw through her lie, she didn't immediately question it. They lay side by side, eyes on the ceiling, in comfortable silence, a pose that was all too common during their high school years. "You need to stop torturing yourself Q."

"Says the girl next to me pining over her ex." Quinn scoffed. "Take your own advice first, San."

"That's different." Santana muttered defensively, rolling onto her side to face the blonde. "For a start, it's been 6 months for me, not 6 years." Quinn's temper rose. There was no comparison between these two scenarios, and she hated the implication that there was. She was doing her best; it was all she could do. She refused to apologise for not being good enough or coping better, especially to someone she hadn't seen for almost a year.

"I wasn't aware that there was an imposed time limit on wallowing these days, thanks for letting me know. Look, I know I'm an emotionally damaged fuck up, but honestly, I don't appreciate comparing scars. Just because we're friends doesn't mean that I welcome being judged by you, especially when you've got no fucking clue what you're talking about." The voice sounded old and tired, not at all like the voice of a 24 year old girl. Quinn guessed that it reflected how she felt most of the time, as though she had lived decades longer

"I'm sorry if this isn't what you want to hear, and it is probably not the right time since you just got your ass dumped, but I'm not going to keep walking on egg shells around you. What Shelby did to you was really shitty, but she must have had her reasons, and whatever possessed her, she's Beth's mother and it was years ago, so you have to get over it." Quinn opened her mouth to argue, but Santana continued unabated. "It was wrong of her to do that, she knew how hard it was for you to even consider seeing that baby, so to snatch her away again when you finally got close was unforgivable, but you need to stop. You were a scared kid and you did everything right somehow. You should be proud, Quinn. Don't you see, you gave that baby everything you could, a chance, a future, even if it meant that life didn't include you. That's truly selfless, and you're amazing."

"I don't feel amazing, I feel like shit." The Latina wrapped her slender arms around the shivering blonde and Quinn curled securely into the comforting grip. "I was good with Beth, you know, I could have been great. I taught her to say my name, did I tell you that? It was the last thing I ever heard my daughter say. I didn't even get to tell her goodbye. Do you think she remembers, does she know I love her?"

Santana snuggled closer, and Quinn let her, she didn't care that they were nearly spooning or that her best friend was burying her face into untamed blonde hair. Quinn knew it should matter, should feel wrong. She was Quinn Fabray and that level of intimacy was foreign to her, even with Ben, they never really held each other. However, it was just what she needed right then. "You haven't lost everything, you've still got me." It didn't sound like a platitude, it felt real.

"Do you promise?" It was barely a whisper. Santana could have mistaken it for a sigh, but Quinn knew that she wouldn't. She heard it and in response she placed a gentle kiss on Quinn's crown, making the blonde smile. Suddenly, Santana broke away, making the other girl tense inexplicably. She felt cold without the body heat and the gap between them seemed so wide.

Quinn thought that she had ruined things in spite of Santana's display of tenderness, or maybe because of it. It was entirely possible, she considered, that her vulnerability had caused Santana to freak out; after all, neither of them was very familiar with any of this and such a gesture was unheard of. Santana only previously revealed her softer side to Brittany and that hadn't exactly worked out well for her. Kindness was new territory for their friendship, or Quinn's relationships as a whole. The felt like she was truly being herself again. She twisted to face the Latina, troubled by the sight of her troubled brow. "Did I do something wrong?" The question hung there for a moment.

"No, it's me. I have. Here I am, letting you open up and share all this personal stuff, promising things, acting like some perfect fucking friend when I haven't even been honest with you. Surely that's rule 1 in the friendship handbook. I fucked up; I lied about what really happened between me and B."

"What do you mean?" The admission came out of nowhere leaving Quinn reeling, as the moments spun out ahead of her, Santana's words cast doubt over everything. Sure, it had only been a tiny window of time, but she felt like they had really connected. She groaned, wishing she could take back what she had just said. She felt so foolish for opening up. "You are broken up though. aren't you?"

"Of course, fuck, I wouldn't lie about that." Santana snapped back.

"So what then, talk to me, I just spilled my guts…"

"Christ, I'm trying, just shut up for a second." Quinn watched as Santana took several extraordinarily deep breaths, one after another. "Nothing I told you was a lie, I just made some omissions. We had been arguing a lot, for months actually. I know what you're thinking, no change there, right? What with the volatile mix of my hot blood and her free-spiritedness…" The humorless chuckle that Santana emitted did nothing to calm either herself or Quinn and the sound died in her throat right away. "Anyway, whatever. I thought I was just being paranoid, jealous, and possessive. The girl likes to dance, where's the harm? I told myself. But when she started leaving me home alone, it got weird. I confronted her and she talked me round, like always. That girl had me wrapped around her little finger, you remember."

Santana stalled and Quinn gently eased her balled up fists off the bed sheet and clasped them. "It's okay; you don't have to do this."

"Yeah, I do. For my own sanity if nothing else. A few days before I came home to discover her screwing that guy, I found something else. I was in the bathroom, I was late from some lunch date, hurrying, and knocked my make-up bag off the counter. Stuff went everywhere. I was scrambling around and that's when I saw it, a pregnancy test." Quinn gasped and it came out sounding more like a sob. Santana nodded grimly, confirming the blonde's worst fears. "It was positive. We had a massive fight, but she swore on her life that it wasn't hers. It was the first time I'd ever yelled at her and by the end I actually felt guilty for distrusting her, can you believe that?."

Quinn shook her head, she couldn't speak. Her throat burned as she forced out her questions. "What happened with the …uh…." She couldn't bring herself to say the word. It was too painful for them both. "I mean…is she…did she?"

"She's due in 2 months. I heard it's a girl. That's why I couldn't tell you." Quinn flinched. She swallowed down the bitterness that had coated her throat, hating herself. The gulp was easy to hear. Santana looked up and their eyes momentarily locked before the Latina shifted her focus away. Her lips twisted in a cold smile. "Do you think she'll name the thing after me? Maybe we could bond over it, all of us. Hey, I have an idea you could call her up, give her some tips. The benefit of your experience."

Quinn stomach lurched. She could hear the anguish, not at all dulled by the passing of time. She understood the girl's defence mechanisms well enough to ignore the sarcasm and put aside the cruelty. Nevertheless she bit her lip, suppressing the surge of emotions within; this was about Santana, not her. She pressed the girl against her in an almost claustrophobic embrace.

"I'm so sorry, San." The words seemed inadequate, but she was at a loss. She hadn't been prepared for this. "I'm so fucking sorry." She repeated the words over and over, stroking the Latina's hair. Quinn could feel wetness soaking her shirt and held tighter. Her own tears tracked down her face and the taste seemed to capture the flavour of Lima, Ohio, embodying it. It was like an old blue-print of her misery or a long forgotten salty delicacy served up by the town. Crying was a shock. She hadn't done so in 6 years and each droplet caused a physical reaction, like liquid pain, to the extent that she manoeuvred her hand to her cheek to ensure that it wasn't blood pouring down.


	3. Chapter 3

**This update is slightly happier and fluffier, probably a relief, since you practically needed wellies to wade through all the tears of the previous chapter. **

**I actually got it done faster than I expected, hence the speedy upload. I hope you continue to like it. I know it's a slow burner but stick with me, it's necessary.**

**Drunken, slightly possessive Santana was fun to write. She gives me seriously loyal, protective vibes so it seemed only fitting that she would try and be Quinn's white knight, misguided or not. Also I couldn't resist sneaking in mentions of Rachel again because I adore both Pezberry and Faberry so much…**

In the days that followed their heart to heart, something changed. It was not possible for there not to be some shift in the dynamic, given that the discussion was the most candid they'd had ever had in all the years they had known each other. In spite of all their mutual experiences and every heart ache they had been through, they hadn't really shared, their chats never quite scratching below the surface of the problem. It was a relief for Quinn to finally stop skirting around the issues, but she never expected her confidante to be Santana Lopez. Rachel Berry seemed like a much more suited candidate in theory; she loved to talk, and had encouraged Quinn to open up, whereas Santana, in the past had inspired mainly conflict.

The girls became more affectionate with each other instinctually from that point, the barriers torn down, knowing that the other needed the comfort. They weren't afraid to reciprocate because neither girl would turn the other away now, bravado cast off in favour of sincerity. All they had was each other, no more pretence. It was the kind of bond that Quinn had always craved with another person, but never had. It had always eluded her, whether she searched for it in within family, friendships or lovers. As the days turned to weeks, it didn't fade or wane, and she and Santana only got closer.

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad I came back." The credits were rolling on the film they had just watched, curled up on the couch, and Quinn had never felt so comfortable. It was as if she was having an out of body experience. The notion of being so touchy feely, it used to make her skin crawl, but it came so easily for her now, she subconsciously craved it.

"I'm happy I found you again, Quinn." They both wore matching, knowing smiles. It was obvious to the blonde that Santana wasn't only referring to their co-incidental meeting at Breadstix. She was hinting at her rediscovery of the happier Quinn Fabray that existed prior to junior year. She was making a slow, if occasionally halting re-emergence thanks to Santana. "You ready to go; we have to leave in 20."

Quinn nodded enthusiastically. She was looking forward to meeting Santana's work friends. She had been in Breadstix countless times, but always as a customer. She wanted to see the other side, experience firsthand the afterhour's adventures that Santana hinted at and finally be able to put the faces to the names she had heard. Not that she ever needed much convincing; regardless of what her friend had planned. Nights out with Santana were definitely the highlight of her week. "I'll be ready in 10." She replied happily.

It didn't take long for Quinn's eagerness to die off. This evening was different. Santana seemed uptight around her colleagues and to try and compensate she drank more. The nervousness was not a side of Santana she was equipped to dealing with very well and soon things began to spiral out of control. It made for an uncomfortable situation all around. Quinn tried to drag her friend home, but the Latina refused to listen to her reasoning or pleas. The blonde was stuck, she couldn't leave her, and so she had no choice to try and make the best of the wreckage of the night and limit Santana's potential embarrassment without being labelled a killjoy by the entire bar. The longer the night wore on it, the more fraught Quinn's patience became, and everything felt increasingly like a chore, as if she was babysitting a stubborn, slightly aggressive child that was eternally on the verge of tears.

Quinn thought that temporary salvation came in the form of Ben, a quiet boy who worked in the kitchens. In spite of his conversational shyness, he was an amazing dancer, reminding her of a slightly less skilled Mike Chang. She, as the most sober, was his logical choice of partner, although she hoped that it wasn't just her blood alcohol level that made him pick her. The blonde had no romantic motives, she simply missed dancing and in particular, the thrill of being twirled and dipped. Quinn couldn't stop grinning as they glided across the dusty floor.

"You're a fantastic dancer." She gushed breathlessly as the song ended. She hadn't meant the compliment flirtatiously, but Ben blushed feverishly. "You are." Quinn repeated. "Own it." Abruptly, his lips were on hers, a gentle, hesitant pressure that built gradually into a higher intensity. Quinn felt bad, hoping that she hadn't led him on, that wasn't her intention and she was already agonising over how to spare his feelings when she felt herself being yanked back roughly.

"What the hell?" Santana replied, her slurred words only making her sound more indignant. Quinn rubbed her arm, imagining the ugly bruise that would no doubt mark her skin tomorrow.

"What's the problem?" Ben asked. His bewilderment was evident. Quinn was more or less as baffled as him.

"The problem, short stack, since you asked, is you kissing all up on my girl." Santana growled, glaring at him with unbridled fury.

"San, you're drunk-" Quinn tried to reason.

"So what, that gives him a free-pass to take advantage, to sleaze all over you?" The boy started to protest, wishing to declare his innocence, but Quinn silenced him with a raised hand. She could see exactly where this was headed. The Latina reliving a different time, at an alternative place, with another blonde, so she placed her hand on the girl's shoulder, softening. She couldn't blame Santana for reacting like this, not after what she knew. Quinn cursed Brittany under her breath for doing this to the girl.

She kept her voice firm but gentle. "You don't have to protect me. We were just dancing and things got out of hand, that's all. I don't even like Ben like that." She looked at the boy apologetically and he shrugged eager to back away "I didn't even kiss back." That fact seemed important to share.

"I saw…." She didn't let Santana finish. That was likely to mean her friend saying something she regretted when she sobered up. Quinn stepped closer and gripped her hands, in an attempt to ground Santana back in the present.

She spoke tenderly, all the while rubbing soothing circular patterns across her friend's skin. It appeared to help diffuse the tension. "San, it's me, Quinn, see? I'm not Brittany and you're not my girlfriend. It's us, best friends, me and you." She tilted Santana's chin upwards so that the hazy eyes could see her clearly. She smiled reassuringly, her hands finding the other girl's again. "So while I appreciate what your intentions, trying to save me, you don't need to. I'm fine. Let's just go home, okay."

Physically getting Santana home wasn't any easier than it used to be in high school, it was more challenging if anything since Quinn didn't have the luxury of Brittany's added strength to help drag her along. It hit her again on route for home that Santana and Brittany were really over. That had been happening at random intervals since the Latina had told her the truth, and Quinn's mind kept coming back to it, circling around the idea, incapable of absorbing it. She was floored. It didn't seem real, no matter how much Santana cried on her shoulder, she still half-expected Brittany to appear and wipe the tears away. That was how it had always been. Her two inseparable best friends had been ripped apart. The epic love story that they'd shared had withered and died. Quinn had a front row seat for most of it, all the hurdles they overcame, the battles they fought and won against the prejudice of this town, and it seems so unfair that it wasn't enough. They got broken up anyway, that wasn't what was supposed to happen.

Their devotion didn't save them. That thought made Quinn want to cry, they couldn't hold onto their fairytale, and that was proof enough that maybe genuine love didn't really exist. It no longer flourished in this world, resigned to the pages of books and lyrics of songs and thus utilised for profit. Quinn longed for the release of tears, she'd been granted it once, but now it wouldn't come. She couldn't even mourn the concept that maybe, lust turned to infatuation, was the best she could hope for.

Quinn felt as exposed and hopeless as her best friend; the Latina sprawled against the porcelain of the bathroom tiles. Quinn watched and marvelled at how together Santana appeared considering what Brittany had done, how tough she must be not to fall apart repeatedly with each new day. The blonde turned away from the light that fell on her face; sickened that she'd previously been unable to measure up to that degree of functionality, after all this time, all too aware that it was only Santana's presence that had gotten her to this point at all.

"I should be there for her, not the other way around." She decided to do just that, she breezed into the bathroom, intent on properly taking care of the other girl.

"Did you know that Berry has no gag reflex?" Santana babbled as Quinn picked her up off the floor. "Seriously, none at all."

"Why are you thinking about Rachel when you are about to get into bed with me, something you want to tell me, San? A girl could be offended." Quinn joked, tucking the Latina in and making sure that she was adequately propped up on pillows.

"Don't worry Q; you're a much better kisser than her."

Quinn eyed her friend, agape. "Like you'd know?" She literally couldn't believe what she was hearing; whilst her own practice sessions with the Latina at cheerleading camp were a closely guarded secret, she was nonetheless confident that she would know if her best friend had locked lips with her former nemesis turned ally. "You have not kissed Rachel, you're lying!"

"Sure I have, a few times actually, thanks to the trusty spin the bottle games at Puck's. He always had a way with that spinner, I think he cheated, but anyway, it doesn't matter. She was better than I expected, you know, inexperienced but very eager to learn. On average I'd give her a 7/10." Quinn couldn't speak and continued to stare at the other girl incredulously. "It was senior year, we wanted to cut loose a bit, you were AWOL, after a while I just kind of forgot to tell you I guess, it wasn't important anymore."

Quinn didn't really know what to say, it sounded credible enough, not just drunken bullshit, even so, she had trouble imagining Rachel Berry ever really letting loose that much, or that often. She wet her lips, feeling self-conscious for what she was about to ask. "Did she…uh….?" The words stuck in her throat.

"Like it?" The girl finished for her, grinning broadly. Quinn blushed, nodding slightly. "Definitely. Puck wasn't the only one who rigged that game; Berry wanted to be all up on this."

"Wow." That was all there really was to say. Quinn shook her head in disbelief. Her friends really were full of surprises.

"Are you still in touch with her?" Santana enquired, her face turning serious. "You guys got kind of close after she helped you with your Yale application and everything, right?" The girl gave the impression that she was legitimately interested and not about to mock her, so Quinn nodded. It wasn't like it was a secret or anything anyway.

Quinn pursed her lips, speculating on how best to categorise her ongoing contact with Rachel Berry. It was complicated and Santana was drunk so she opted for a simplified version of the truth. "Sort of. She writes to me, and sometimes she sends tickets for her shows, that kind of thing."

"Writes, what like, emails, you mean?"

Quinn laughed. "No, actual letters. She seems determined to single-handedly revive old fashioned penmanship. Rachel reckons that taking the time to write and reply to a letter is more personal, and considered. She feels that as a result you are more deliberate and thoughtful about what you want to say."

Santana grinned. "And what is it that you want to say?"

Quinn shrugged. "Mostly I want to tell her to get a hotmail account. Now come on, time for bed. I'm exhausted. Don't make me write you an angry letter."Santana did as she was told and soon they were huddled close under the blankets in the dark. Quinn settled down and waited for sleep, listening to the rise and fall of her best friend's gentle breathing, but suddenly she went from being moments from slumber to utterly wide awake with a burning question on her mind. "Oh San, I forgot to ask, what number was I?" Santana didn't respond, already half-asleep. The blonde nudged her in the ribs sharply.

"Jesus Q, can't this wait until the morning!" She grumbled. Quinn chewed her lip because clearly it couldn't. Santana sighed. "I don't know, we were kids, weren't we…" She looked like she was going to leave it at that and Quinn rolled away, pouting, but after a long pause she talked again. Her voice was soft and wistful as she dredged up the memory. "You, Quinn, were unquestionably a 9." The blonde didn't spin around or otherwise acknowledge that she had heard the comment. She remained stock still, facing the wall, her lips curved into a wide smile that nobody could see.


	4. Chapter 4

**Strangel]y I seem to have MAJOR writers block with all my stories but this. I couldn't even think of an update either, but then suddenly tonight, this happened.**

**So, its fluff AGAIN, I couldn't help it. Sorry, there will be more angst to come at points I'm sure, but right now the weather is depressing, I feel blah and I just want to be cheered up. So there it is. Enjoy. **

**FYI- I'm deliberately keeping it vague how long Quinn and Santana have been friends so that you can make up your own minds to fit your personal head cannon just know that it was sometime in childhood as previously mentioned.**

**P.S – I'm not religious in the slightest, so apologies if I got the Moses story in anyway wrong.**

For the first time in what felt like forever Quinn woke up without the unrelenting throbbing sensation lurking behind her eyes. It was a novelty not to be hung-over but glancing across at Santana's lifeless figure she didn't think her friend would share her enthusiasm for the day ahead. She smiled as she noted the giant glass of water and pills that she had the forethought to place on the bedside cabinet, knowing that Santana would make an immediate bee-line for painkillers the moment she was conscious.

Quinn got out of bed but was unsure what to do with herself. There seemed little point to cooking, the Latina's already strong aversion to eating breakfast only grew the morning after a heavy night. Instead she headed for the bathroom and took an unhurried shower. When she emerged Santana was still dead to the world so she made a decision to hit _The_ _Lima Bean_ and grab some take-out. Espressos made everything better as far as her best friend was concerned and Quinn herself would never turn down freshly brewed Columbian roasted beans. Reliance upon caffeine was a trait that they shared so Quinn knew that Santana would thank her for this consideration. Chiefly because her mother's ancient coffee pot just didn't cut it and the blonde had found out the extent of its shortcomings the hard way. She thought longingly, not for the first time, about her top of the range machine lying forlorn and forgotten on the spotless counter top of an apartment over 800 miles away. If it had been possible to have fitted the appliance in her suitcase Quinn would have taken it without batting an eyelid, given that said part of their morning ritual was always left to her and she genuinely wondered whether or not Alex even knew how to switch it on.

The blonde wasn't gone long; there hadn't been a queue at the coffee shop, so she was surprised to find Santana awake and practically pacing. "Quinn, where've you been?" The Latina snapped. Quinn brandished the coffees in answer. Santana exhaled nosily, collapsing back onto the bed. "Sorry, when I woke up and you weren't here, I thought…"

"S, this is my house and even if it weren't, I'd never run out on you, you're stuck with me." She scooted onto the bed careful not to spill the drinks and smiled. "So relax and drink your water, okay."

Santana reached for the glass and took a big gulp. "Satisfied?" She replied wincing slightly. "Urrggh, gross it's warm, gimme my coffee, hopefully that will be the temperature it's supposed to be."

Quinn shook her head. "Nope, no can do, you need to hydrate first, and Coffee is a diuretic, so drink up." She retorted, holding the disposable cup just out of reach.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Jeez, you're such a mom." The blonde inadvertently baulked at the word causing the Latina to bite her lip. "Q, I'm sorry I didn't think-"

"It's fine." Quinn retorted, cutting her off quickly. She knew it was stupid to react, in the same way that she knew it was futile to scan crowds for little blonde haired girls or to inspect the mail for a letter from Shelby that would likely never come, but she did it anyway.

The blonde sighed questioning whether or not she would ever stop feeling so raw about this subject. She considered Brittany's pregnancy and Tina's twins that she was yet to meet even though she had already posted the gifts for their imminent 3rd birthday party. She didn't want to feel like this anymore. It was wrong that the joyfulness of children, and little girls predominantly, became like the elephant in the room whenever she was around. Quinn felt like a dark cloud raining on everybody else's parade. She was sick of it, but she couldn't stop. "What's wrong with me?" It came out as a snivel, but Santana didn't recoil from the prospect of getting either tears or mucus on her, instead she held the girl tightly and rocked her. Once Quinn had quietened, they lay side by side and drank their tepid coffees together without another sound.

Sometime later, Santana broke the cosy stillness that had fallen between them. Quinn was surprised to hear her voice; she assumed that the other girl had gone back to sleep since she was lying so still with her eyes closed. "You know the story of Moses as a baby, right?" The blonde quirked her eyebrow at the drowsy Latina, although the other girl couldn't see to appreciate the gesture, so it was lost. She suppressed an eye roll that would be similarly overlooked.

"Of course, did you forget who you're talking to?" The blonde ran a hand through her hair absently. "What's your point?" Her voice wasn't unkind. She was more curious that anything about why Santana of all people had chosen to bring up a religious story.

Santana blinked and looked across at the blonde, fumbling over her words. "I don't know…I guess I'm saying that things will work themselves out, God has a master plan or something doesn't he, I mean, didn't you always believe that?"

Quinn responded with patience although Christianity was now somewhat a touchy subject for her. If anyone other than her best friend had been speaking she would have probably dismissed them off-hand and walked away. "Once upon a time, sure, but I have doubts what to even believe in these days. While I can't deny that things worked out well for Beth, I got left in the cold and it's hard to trust in a God that leaves you feeling so alone."

"You were brought back here, to me though, you aren't alone anymore, maybe that means something."

"The fact that I'm a heartless bitch, incapable of basic human emotions brought me back here, not divine intervention, San. Not to mention I'm pretty much penniless." Quinn countered with a hollow chuckle. "By the way, not to criticise you so early in the morning, or anything, but you should read your bible more closely next time, Moses was raised by his birth mother, even after she placed him in the reeds."

Santana sighed, massaging her aching temples. "Shit. Sorry. All that stuff was always more your thing Q…"

Quinn reached out and took the other girl's hand to show that there were no hard feelings. "I know you're just trying to help." Santana looked relieved when she clocked her expression, visibly loosening up. Quinn grinned. "Don't stress, I'm not about to drag your heathen ass to church."

"In that case, how do you want to spend the day?"

"I might have a couple of ideas." She replied with a smirk, pulling Santana up from the bed. "Get dressed and then we'll talk."

The winning idea was a sort of road trip and Quinn guessed that Santana voted for it because, for her, it involved mainly lounging in the passenger seat with the window down and the radio on. The blonde wasn't complaining she had always liked driving; there was always something satisfying about knowing that the road was getting eaten up by her tires and observing the landmarks of a place get smaller and smaller until it appeared that they didn't exist at all. Behind the wheel of her car she had more freedom that she could ever possibly devour, she could go anywhere. It was limitless, confined only by the gas in her tank or the folds of her battered map. She'd spent a lot of time just driving when everything got too much.

Santana had other reasons too for choosing to take a drive. Namely, her fond memories of either her beloved mustang or Quinn's father's borrowed truck taking them away from the dullness of their hometown and giving them the option to experience somewhere new. They could go where nobody knew them and reinvent themselves and it was something they relished. As a result they fled Lima often. As teenagers the three of them, the Unholy Trinity as they dubbed themselves back then, would take off for entire weekends coming back only to crash for a few hours before school, tired but with an abundance of stories to tell. Thus this premise was nostalgic for both of them. Quinn only hoped that the spirit of another blonde wouldn't tag along for the ride and haunt Santana. She was happier lately and Quinn didn't want her suggestion to backfire.

"Are you alright?" She asked when she spied the dreamy yet sober look in her friend's eye. "Do you want me to take you home?"

"No, let's stay; she shouldn't get to claim all my good memories. These are our spots; I was here with you as much as I was with her."

"Speaking of our spots, I know a final place we can go, this one is special, and it's all ours. Are you ready?" Santana nodded slowly so Quinn let the engine roar into life. The drive wasn't that lengthy or to anywhere far-flung, and as a consequence she figured that Santana would soon guess the destination, but nevertheless she made the Latina firmly close her eyes. As she pulled up Quinn paid close attention to the other's girl's expression waiting for the precise moment that realisation dawned and lit up her face. She didn't have to hold out for too long, the breeze carried the scent and as they breathed it in they both grinned.

"Our kingdom, I thought it had gone!" Santana exclaimed, savouring the immediately recognisable scent of crushed pine needles. She rushed from the car, dragging the blonde with her, eager to explore their old childhood playground. Although their fantasy forest had thinned in volume, only a small clump to begin with, and now shrunk down considerably Quinn refused to mourn. So, the remaining plants didn't stand as tall or proud as they used to, she could relate to that.

Normally the withered state of their former makeshift camp site would depress her with its fragility, but her vivid memories remained, startling with their endurance and that cheered her. As they walked she recognised every tree and recalled all their invented names with clarity. It still existed and it was theirs alone. If in 5 years she came back to find this place wiped out as her friend already feared it had been, her recollections would remain, and Santana's too. They were already documented in the pages of her journal, immortalised in ink so that somebody would always know. They could discover the place even if there was no physical evidence to find. The journal was filled with documented places like that that existed only for her, and Quinn had begun writing it for only one person.

It wasn't for her own benefit that she poured her heart onto the paper, cathartic though it may be and she continued in spite of the fact that her intended reader would most likely never know, much less study her words and therefore understand her thoughts. It was painful but Quinn didn't dwell on such melancholy, it was impossible when surrounded by the bliss evoked by that place. She may never have the chance to share the destination with her daughter or any other future generations, but she had succeeded in bringing her best friend back. Seeing the Latina's change in demeanour meant more than anything in that moment and Quinn couldn't remember the last time she had seen Santana so pleased.

"Q, look, it survived." The blonde knew where the other girl was pointing without glancing over. She beamed, elated beyond measure that this particular tree wasn't amongst the fallen. She stood alongside her friend, both their hands reaching for the gnarled trunk. They both looked up to read the message.

_**QF + SL BFF**_

The Latina had carved the letters with indelicate strokes of her penknife, climbing into the boughs as high as she dared and reaching down to engrave.

"Any loser can write their name on the bottom." Santana muttered, echoing her childhood sentiments.

"It's pretty high." Quinn admitted, recollecting how fearless her friend had been.

"Race you to the top!"

"San, the tree's half-dead, it's not…" There was no point completing her sentence, the Latina had already shrugged off her jacket and began the rapid ascent.

"Damn it, Lopez, no fair!" Quinn whined, scrambling after.

From the top, Quinn had that familiar childhood feeling of ruling the world. She'd felt like anything was possible, as if she could stretch out her hand and pluck a sunbeam from the sky if she wished. Somewhere along the way she had lost that innocent optimism but she was getting a taste of it now and it was delicious. She felt almost dizzy as she closed her eyes and let the scented breeze caress her face. The warm glow of the afternoon sun had never felt purer.

"Thanks Quinn, I needed this."

"I may have done this for you originally, but I'm glad, I think I needed it too, maybe even more so..."

Santana nodded and swung her legs over the creaking branches in order to scoot closer to the blonde. "There is no reason why we can't make more memories, the two of us."

"I know." Quinn opened her eyes and stared candidly at the other girl. "Would you think I was a dork if I said that I can't wait?"

Santana smirked, her face shaded by the dappled light of the tall canopy. "I've always thought you were a dork, Fabray, that'll never change."


	5. Chapter 5

**Weirdly, I hate doing phone calls and yet I have been writing them a lot lately. I hope all the dialogue didn't become tedious to read.**

**It never fails to confuse me as a fierce anti-smoker that I seem to exalt the benefits of cigarettes in my fics. I suppose that comes from knowing a lot of smokers in my life that had taken profound joy and comfort from it. In any case, I am not myself an advocate, but it seems like an appropriate thing for Quinn to do, given her current frame of mind. She both is self- destructive and looking for comfort wherever she can find it. **

**N.B- I couldn't resist putting in **_**The Breakfast Club**_** quote, so kudos to you if you spot it. It remains one of my favourite films no matter how many times I watch it.**

There was nothing gentle about the way Quinn woke up. It wasn't a soft easing back into consciousness. It was an almost violent jolt into wakefulness that left her bewildered. She gradually realised that the culprit was the unrelenting shrill chirps of the telephone. Her first thought as she lain there with her eyes screwed firmly shut was that somebody must have drunk dialled her because it felt like the dead of night. However, the bright light that assaulted her vision denied this, betraying that it was late morning at least. Quinn sighed. She had slept like the dead and tendrils of her evaporating dreams still clung to her, trying to claw her back into that world. She shook her head to try and clear it, vaguely aware that whoever was calling had yet to give up.

Instinctively her arm moved to the side of the bed where the Latina had slept, but in the place of her friend's sprawling form she found only a sheet of paper. Quinn blinked in an attempt to focus without her contacts. Grudgingly, she eventually reached for the thick black rimmed spectacles in her bedside drawer. They were considered stylish, she had been told as such multiple times by various people, and yet she hated them regardless. Geek chic was not a trend that she could get behind.

Frowning, she read the note. _**Tried to wake you, got called into work. See you later lazybones! S xx **_

__So that was that. She was alone. The phone was still ringing as she reluctantly dived out of bed, her muscles popping and protesting, only for the answer machine to finally kick in. The familiar voice made her freeze. "Hi Q, it's Britt, I guess you're not around. I was just calling to see how you are. I heard you were back home and-" Angrily she snatched up the receiver, suddenly thrilled that Santana had gone.

"What do you want B?" She snapped furiously. Neither her harsh tone nor straightforward speech went unnoticed. She hadn't meant them too. She was wearing her heart firmly on her sleeve. Brittany meanwhile remained calm and patient and Quinn silently hated her for that, her ability to appear the bigger person even though she was the one in the wrong.

"I just, I wanted to check in, see how you were coping with the break-up and being home, it's a lot of changes. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You think my life is going through a big transition, what about you, were you going to mention it? I saw you months ago and you never said a thing about Santana or about the…about your…condition. What the hell B, I thought we were friends?" Quinn realised that she was clutching the phone with enough force to turn her knuckles white and relaxed her grip a little, running her free hand through her hair.

"We are, I just couldn't tell you. I'm sorry." Brittany replied quietly.

Quinn sighed. "It's not me that you should be apologising to though, is it. You ripped her heart out."

Brittany sniffed loudly and Quinn realised that she was crying. Quinn was torn between fierce loyalty to Santana and the growing twinge of sympathy that she felt for the blonde. She was firmly caught in the middle. "I know." Brittany mumbled. "That's why I'm calling, because I was sure that you'd be keeping an eye on San. How is she?" Quinn's compassion evaporated as she realised Brittany's true motives. She, if nothing else, was resolute that the girl wouldn't derail all the positive progress that Santana had made.

"Normally I would say that you should ask her yourself, but I don't believe that you should go anywhere near her. She's doing better, that's all I can really tell you." Quinn bit her lip and steeled herself for the warning she felt that she had to give. "Stay away, Brittany." There was no anger or aggression in her voice, only calm assurances. She knew this was the right thing to do. "Please. Don't ask me anything else, I don't feel comfortable giving you secret updates like some kind of double agent, okay?"

"But…I…these months, staying away…its killing me…" The blonde sounded broken. The jaded voice on the other end of the line evoked a deep pain within Quinn. Brittany was always the never-ending optimist. She had an inherent goodness, some inner sweetness. Quinn wondered precisely when that soured. Were they all destined to grow up twisted, bitter and damaged? Had Lima caused them all to turn out as they had or was it just fated regardless of where they travelled and what they did? Was it unavoidable, the final piece of adulthood slotting cruelly into place. She had hoped Brittany would be spared; alas she had sunk lower than most.

"When you grow up, your heart dies." She mumbled softly. She was unaware that she had uttered the words aloud until the other blonde professed her confusion. Quinn cleared her throat awkwardly. She hadn't meant to say that, but the truth of it hung there regardless. She took a deep breath and continued with renewed strength of mind. "Look B, I get that you're hurting, but Santana is too and I feel like it's my duty to protect her right now. She's the innocent one in this, so if you care as much as you say, don't call again. I can't be much clearer." She hung up then. Her hypocrisy stung a little, given her own tarnished track record with regards to relationships but this wasn't about her. Quinn's only concern was Santana.

She threw on a robe and wandered into the kitchen, her expression still troubled. She practically collided with her mother and her presence in itself was akin to a miracle. Quinn had seen her on less than a handful of occasions since she had been back home. It was a shock and it seemed like a cruel joke that now was one of the times her mother sought fit to make an appearance. Quinn had already been rattled by talking to Brittany and she wasn't sure how much more she could handle without coffee inside her. The blonde nodded in her mother's direction as she reached for the coffee pot.

"Good morning, Judy." She remarked neutrally. She had referred to her mother by her first name since she announced that she was allowing her father to move back in. That concession had proved the final straw to their already fragile relationship. Russell's presence had continued to cast a shadow over the house even in his absence and Quinn could always sense, from the day he packed his bags that things were unfinished between Judy and Russell Fabray. The woman was weak. She loved him still, in spite of his cruelty, abandonment and infidelity. Quinn saw it in her mother's eyes and as a result she was unable to hold her gaze. She was sickened. It had only taken a cursory day or two after she left for college for the man to get his feet back under the table. She wasn't meant to have known, but she did. She hated her father with an intensity that threatened to consume her. She could never forgive him and welcome him back with open arms even if her mother could. Whenever Quinn was around him, all she could think about was the feeling of her baby daughter being ripped away. He stripped her of her choices and she could never forget that. His rage that day was burned into her for all time and it couldn't be wiped clean no matter how many times he smiled at her presently, and it definitely wasn't nullified by the regret that shone in his eyes. It changed nothing.

"Morning Quinnie dear, what are your plans for the day?" Her mother enquired civilly. She didn't balk at her daughter's hostility, she was dulled to it. However her voice was an octave too high and her supposedly cheery grin showed a little too much teeth. Her jollity was increasingly forced and it seemed to wear more heavily on her the longer Quinn stayed. Judy's distress at the break-up stemmed from the fact that it was failure, a step backwards, than any genuine affection for the boy that her daughter had been dating. She was preoccupied by the notion of wedding bells. Quinn could be someone else's problem then. She knew that her mother's real question was always about the duration of her homecoming. Her mention of plans carried the implication of job hunting, the future and the next step. The most important thing was always a ticket out. It wasn't suitable for a Fabray to be stuck in a rut.

Quinn shrugged. She had no satisfactory answer. "I guess I'll go meet Santana from work later."

"I do wish you'd ask that Lopez girl if she has any suitable single friends. You need to get back on the horse, Quinnie, all this moping isn't becoming, and you honestly need to get pro-active. By your age I was already married to your father. "Quinn snorted and rolled her eyes. Not only was this speech insanely patronising but she had been subjected to variations of said tale a million times. Her parents, and herself, were so far removed from the picture her mother painted that it was tragic.

She sneered. "Look how well that turned out. Save it, I know that you only married him because you got into trouble, as you put it, and once Frannie came along, you were stuck." She disregarded the outrage that clouded the other woman's features and ploughed on, suddenly eager for this discussion to be over with. "I'm only 24, and whilst I might not know what I'm planning to do, I do know that I don't want that life, your life." She wrapped both hands around her warm mug and retreated eagerly to the sanctuary of her room. "So, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go hang around town with the other no hopers. I doubt I'll be home for dinner." She called over her shoulder before shutting the door.

Once Quinn left the house she didn't really know what to do. She had hours until she imagined she could reasonably meet Santana and she didn't fancy gate crashing her shift again. Things had been awkward with the _Breadstix _crowd since that fabled night out. For a lack of viable alternative she headed in the direction of the park, her eyes seeking out the calm waters of the tiny duck pond. Thoughts of Brittany and Santana overwhelmed her there though, so she quickly moved on, drifting aimlessly. Lima never felt so small and stifling as it did on days like these. She rooted around in her bag until she found the instruments she required to occupy her. Firstly, her iPod, the tangled wires snagging as she pulled the headphones free of the clutter and put them in her ear. She turned the music up loud, taking a seat as she reached for the other emotional crutch she desperately needed. The crumpled carton of cigarettes had settled at the bottom, waiting for their sporadic usefulness to be implemented.

Smoking was a habit that she had never truly managed to break, despite trying on and off since senior year. Quinn had never revealed this to anyone, but deep down, she was glad. She knew that there were obviously more healthy coping mechanisms she could've clung to, like singing or exercise, and yet those alternatives didn't work the same as her terrible vice. She had never found a more suitable respite, or been able to match the profound comfort that nicotine offered. It smoothed over her frayed nerves. The simple act of inhaling and exhaling was a release; it was as though the problems drifted away with the smoke. Catching sight of Puck was the nudge she needed to stop loitering. She didn't want to spend the remainder of the morning fending him off. The boy never was able to take a hint. She extinguished her half-smoked cigarette sorrowfully and ducked into the bookshop, where she knew he was unlikely to follow, before she could be seen. She was appreciative that she had developed a natural tendency to watch the crowds that milled around her, otherwise she would have been blindsided.

She hadn't stepped over this threshold in years, but reminiscent of every other building in town, it was unchanged. This time however, that fact was cheering. Quinn had always liked the atmosphere of this place. The small heavily lined shelves gave the store the appearance of a cosy den or kook; it was hospitable and homely in a way that ironically her own house wasn't, no matter how many books she amassed or the amount of clutter she collected. The girl breathed in the scent of old bindings and felt her soul settle.

"You don't get that with an e-book, huh?" The owner remarked, noticing her. She smiled in response and was immediately recognised. "Quinn Fabray, it's been a long time."

The welcome was affectionate but laced with a hint of sadness. She took it for what it was, after all, she'd made no secret of her desire to leave Lima far behind and nevertheless here she was. The situation was such a cliché and it reeked of disappointment and melodrama. She felt like she was staring in her very own straight to cable movie. Quinn made herself comfortable in any case, adopting a pose that was so familiar of forgotten younger days when she would devour books endlessly for hours at a time until her legs cramped beneath her. She was as much a fixture in the store back then as the owner himself or the contents of the bargain bin that never altered, and from which nothing was sold. Not all nostalgia had to be bad and she was happy to take a piece of that past with her and cradle it.

"You don't get places like this in Boston." She exclaimed as Mr Gantry surveyed her with a smile. "So, what have you got for me?" The man's personal recommendations were always an extra touch she missed. He made a show of rummaging theatrically through the shelves in spite of the fact that it was apparent to them both that he knew exactly where the novels he sought were located. Quinn indulged him the charade; it was part of the deal. The blonde then dutifully poured over the proffered paperbacks. The girl sighed slightly as she noticed they all had a common theme. The man behind the counter winked as she realised his joke. With a grimace she shuffled through them anyway. "Very funny, anything to offer that's not about coming home, finding yourself or realising that you've had the wrong impression about your family all along?" She asked dryly. "I'm not in the mood for the 'home is where the heart is' mantra today."

He reached behind his back and retrieved an outwardly non-descript book. Quinn grinned. Poetry had always been a favourite of hers, she had even tried her hand at writing some in college, but she always found her skills lacking. She could never capture on paper the intensity of emotion she felt when reading somebody else's words. Ultimately, after a few unsuccessful attempts she had given up. Clearing her mind, Quinn let the stanzas and rhythms flow over her. The blonde didn't stir again until she closed the book of the final page. By then, she discovered that the sky had taken on an inky hue and rain was falling.

Following a long dialogue which consisted of Quinn being unable to convince Mr Gantry to allow her to part with any money, she thanked the man profusely and pocketed her gift. Time hadn't stood still for her and she raced to meet Santana. Quinn didn't acknowledge the distance or the appalling weather, her mind still safely stowed away, cocooned by the world that existed solely on the inside of the crisp white pages she had just ingested hungrily. She was full to the brim with haunting imagery and elegant turns of phrase. It felt wonderful. Quinn was at that moment in the frame of mind that, once in a while, it paid to have no solid plans and to therefore see where or what you stumbled into. The day may have begun badly, but it had most definitely turned itself around and that was pretty much down to a coincidence.

"It's a shame Santana refuses to read anything more substantial than subtitles." The blonde mumbled to herself thoughtfully as she considered the drastic change to her mood. She wanted to share that passion with her friend. "But, I suppose I'm as likely a candidate as anyone to change her mind" she conceded as she swung open the doors to the restaurant and headed inside with a little wave of greeting.


	6. Chapter 6

**Both Poems used are by **_**Antonio Machado**_**, from his book "**_**Selected Poems." **_** The first is called simply titled **_**23**_** and the second which Santana reads in Spanish is **_**17. **_** Couldn't resist because he is a poet that I have studied and loved and my copy really does have the original Spanish alongside. **

**I couldn't refuse myself the opportunity for another Rachel Berry mention because I adore her, and a misguided crusade to help Santana seemed like something she would do. **

**Also, I actually hate vilifying Puck; it breaks my heart a little. I love him, especially during his scenes with Beth and I could see what he was trying to do with Shelby, even if the woman herself should have known better. It's simply that Quinn needs a scapegoat to make sense of what happened and an outlet for her rage and he fulfils that for her at the moment.**

**Apologies for the insane amount of dialogue that found its way in here, kind of unavoidable, I hope you enjoy the update anyway.**

Quinn was more than content when Santana suggested that they go over to her house to unwind after work. She didn't fancy another run in with her mother and in any case, she tended to avoid home in the early of dusk because it was the period when her father was most likely to be around. Santana's place was comfortable and somewhere she actively enjoyed spending time so she offered no complaints, although she wasn't sure the same could be said for the Latina if she ended up spending the evening singing the praises of her new poetry book. As much as she adored her friend, she wasn't exactly open to broadening her horizons.

To Santana Lopez, culture was a dirty word. For this, the blonde blamed Rachel Berry. The girl's reluctance could be traced back to a specific point in time. Quinn, whilst she wasn't physically present, had heard the story enough times to be able to vividly picture the scenario from both her friends' perspectives. Rachel, in her infinite wisdom had taken it upon herself to educate Santana. She lamented that the Lima Heights tough girl façade wouldn't assimilate the girl successfully into the college life that she should be striving towards. Quinn assumed that Rachel saw the Latina firmly in an _Eliza Doolittle_ role, and relished the notion of making her into a lady. In short, she had decided a trip to the Opera to be a suitable starting point. Santana disagreed. From that day on, she had dug her heels in, rejecting anything she deemed too high brow or sophisticated.

Over the years she seemed to become more and more stubborn about this and refused to budge no matter how much the blonde despaired. Quinn hadn't given up however, and that night appeared to be the perfect time to start again. She bided her time and waited until Santana was relaxed, they had eaten and it was late enough that her defences were down. The girl was therefore happily lying on the couch flicking through the TV channels with an idle fascination. Meanwhile, her best friend had taken the armchair, switching on the lamp and placing the book in her lap. She feigned disinterest in whatever shows the Latina professed to be watching until the other girl's interest was aroused. It didn't take long; Santana Lopez hated to be ignored.

"Am I boring you?" She snapped as Quinn kept her focus firmly on the pages. She made a non-committal sound and tried not to smirk as Santana swooped. Her plan was working like a charm. "Get your nose out of that damn book then, Fabray, you nerd. We're supposed to hanging out and you haven't said two words to me in hours."

Quinn's gaze flickered momentarily to her friend's irritated expression. "I'm sorry, it's just this book is so…"

Santana didn't let her finish. "Lame?" She snatched it and studied the spine with a sneer. "Selected Poems, pretentious much Q?"

She smirked. "I knew it would be beneath you, there are no pictures for a start." The other girl sent the paperback cart wheeling forcefully towards her, barely giving her the chance to shield herself from the impact with a cushion. The blonde's grin turned triumphant as the book bounced off and Santana scowled. "You should give it a try, you know, listen to this." Quinn cleared her throat and began to read, disregarding her friend's bored expression.

_You'll know yourself if you'll recall the hazy pictures of past dreams, on this sad day when you are going about with open eyes…_

Santana clearly wasn't enraptured by the words. "Great." She muttered sarcastically. The blonde's heart sank a little as the other girl rolled her eyes, but she was adamant that she wouldn't admit defeat.

"It is actually. The poet is Spanish, look, see, it even has the un-translated version alongside. So, you are being really unpatriotic right now."

"I'm not Castilian, Q, as you're well aware, stop trying to get a rise out of me, it won't work." She stuck her tongue out for good measure, unrepentant as the blonde raised her eyebrows in disbelief at the childish gesture.

"Shame, well, I guess I'll head home then, to read my lame book in peace." Quinn retorted, she was half-way out of the door before Santana pulled her back. She paid no attention to the other girl's protests and continued her deliberately slow exit.

"Alright, for fucks sakes, give it here." The Latina snapped sulkily. The blonde dutifully handed over the book and stepped back inside, beaming. She had won and they both knew it. She tried at least to be graceful in victory so that Santana wouldn't pout and might actually take pleasure in what she read. After all, Quinn had no desire to take the other hostage by means of poetry, even if it was to her own advantage. She waited patiently as her friend scanned the pages and her heart fluttered as Santana's mouth gradually curved into a smile.

"Wow, you're right, this is..." The other girl's voice sounded dreamy and far away which Quinn took to be a good sign. It was nice to see her absorbed so completely. As a result, the blonde held her tongue and resisted the impulse to be haughty.

"Read me something." She whispered gently, not willing to break the spell, but at the same time eager to share in the magic. Quinn watched Santana take a deep breath before beginning.

_Desperté. ¿Quién enturbia los mágicos cristales de mi sueño? Mi corazón latía atónito y disperso. Y Todo en la memoria se perdía como una pompa de jabón al viento… _

"I woke. Who clouded over the magic windows of my dreams? My heartbeats cast about, bewildered, and memory let it all slip off again like a soap bubble in the wind." Quinn countered. She translated the piece from memory effortlessly after all the hours she had spent gazing at the book.

"Fine, so you win this round, I'll grant you that all poetry doesn't suck, so long as you don't expect me to go around composing sonnets or anything."

"I'm not delusional, San." Quinn replied with a snigger. "I'm not trying to change you, only improve."

"You can't better perfection." She repeated, echoing that day they met again. The blonde just grinned.

Mission accomplished, Quinn sprang to her feet and leap onto the couch, sprawling against the length of the seat with a satisfied sigh. Not that she had the opportunity to laze there for long, mere seconds later Santana joined her, laughing as she shoved her towards the cushions on the right side. The blonde didn't bother to glower, just snatched the remote and searched in vain for anything that wouldn't bore her senseless. Even as she fixed her gaze on the flickering screen, it didn't escape her attention that her friend was still studying the paperback and she allowed herself a covert smirk whilst Santana's attention was elsewhere.

They stayed in that role reversal for a long time and Quinn found herself being lulled into a state of drowsiness. She knew that if she closed her eyes she wouldn't be opening them again until morning and that wasn't something she was keen to do. It was still too early for sleep. Her routine was fucked up enough as it was and she'd end up waking unavoidably at 4am if she dozed now. Reluctantly she pushed herself up on her elbows and nudged the girl at her side. The Latina jumped and dropped the book, peering at Quinn as she realised she'd been rumbled.

"Let's do something." The blonde suggested. "Let's go out."

Santana shrugged. "It's Lima, all the bars close before its even dark out." Quinn rolled her eyes, it was an exaggeration, but it was ultimately based on truth. Nonetheless she was not going to be dissuaded. The idea had been firmly planted now.

"You're Santana Lopez, you always know where there's a party happening, come hell or high water." In reply, Santana glanced at the wall clock silently. Quinn conceded, as her eyes trailed down, taking in her shapeless, oversized cardigan and scuffed dolly shoes that there were a million reasons not to go, but she was sure that the other girl would say yes. Her previous lethargy was suddenly replaced by the undeniable urge to escape for a while and she could see it reflected in her friend's features.

"Okay, so long as you agree to no drunken drama." Quinn raised her eyebrow. "Yeah, I know I'm the worst culprit, but I can't be bothered with any of that bullshit tonight, if we're going out I just want to dance." She nodded.

"I can think of no better way to end this day and start the next, so count me in." The blonde meant it. She didn't sing anymore, yet somehow the love of dancing had stubbornly lingered in her veins. There were times when it seemed like hitting the dance floor was the only way that she could feel. In the gloom of her past, Quinn had come alive only when the spotlights lit up her skin and burnt her eyes. At the peak of her despair, she danced until her chest throbbed and her body dripped with sweat, every tendon shrieking as she pushed herself to the limit. She could scream against the thudding bass and nobody would hear, it was a fleeting freedom, but it was better than none.

"What are you thinking about?" Santana enquired, wary of the intensity that cloaked her friend in moments of solitude. Quinn shook herself, but the memories held fast.

"The time I almost broke my nose in a mosh pit." Quinn replied absently, still half lost in the remembrance. She knew that Santana was desperate to make reference to her, Quinn Fabray, being a mosh pit, in some dank club but she couldn't.

It was evident that her friend only had to look at the blonde in order to plainly recall the brief emergence of shocking bright pink hair that had materialized that fateful summer. The dye didn't last, and neither did the tattoo that was hastily lasered off on her daddy's dime, but the little silver ring and some elements of her grunge style had crept back once she no longer had anything to prove. She had lost a lot, therefore, that in itself was a relief, getting control back over her wardrobe. To this day, Quinn still favoured black and relied too heavily on eyeliner, but it was a toned down and refined version of the senior year stereotypical Punk caricature. She had also had the luxury of being able to hone her look over the years, allowed to dress purely for her and express herself for the first time without audience or agenda. Her look was now just unmistakably Quinn, a mixture of feminine fabrics and hard edges, as much of a contradiction as the girl herself, and yet it worked. The blonde pulled it off.

"Tell me." Santana remarked softly. Quinn noted that she was suppressing unease that she'd been deliberately kept in the dark about this incident at the time.

The blonde sighed and recanted her tale. "I'd just left Shelby's and once I found it empty I knew I had nowhere conceivably that I could go. I could already hear my mother's smug words, she had never thought me seeing Beth was a good idea, and she warned me it would end in tears. Anyway, I ended up driving out to this club. It was a real hellhole so they didn't ID. I just strolled straight in, I was totally numb, and it could have been anywhere. I gravitated towards a group of guys that were dancing and bumping against each other in waves. It was rough; they were really pounding on each other, but I decided that pain was better than emptiness. It was a test, to see how far away I was, how detached. I just wanted to feel something, to be honest. At some point during the night, I took an elbow to the face. It didn't even break my stride; I just carried on surging into the mass of bodies. I felt nothing. When they pulled me out I figured they had worked out I was underage, it was only when a stranger dragged me into the bathroom and I saw my reflection that I finally understood. I looked down and saw the white dress I was wearing was stained red. My face was a mess of tears and semi-clotted blood. To be frank, I must have resembled the lone girl at the end of a slasher flick. I just shrugged and moved towards the door, fully intending to go back out there."

"Wow Q, that's really intense." The Latina took a deep breath and urged her to continue. "What happened?" Santana was so surprised that she could barely get the words out and Quinn felt guilty that she'd been left totally clueless, even when she saw her friend the next day.

"Eventually I doubled over and threw up thanks to all the blood I'd swallowed. I don't really remember much after that. The next thing I knew I was waking up in bed the following morning. I took extra care over my make-up and went to school as if nothing had happened, well until Puck found me. By then, you'll remember, everybody knew that Shelby and Beth were gone, and I had other things on my mind besides some bruises."

"You must've been in shock. How did you even get home? That's so scary. Anything could have happened to you"

"Forget I even mentioned it, I was just in a pensive mood; blame the poetry for stirring things up. I'm fine. It's ancient history. Let's just go have some fun, alright?" Santana frowned, but they were both aware that she didn't really have much choice other than to comply. That was what Quinn was counting on. Nevertheless, she chanced one final outpouring of concern, hoping that the blonde wouldn't bite her head off.

"Are you sure you still want to go?"

"More than anything."

As soon as they reached the destination, Quinn was glad that Santana had been back in her hometown long enough to re-establish her connections. The venue was little more than an abandoned field; however it was obviously a long standing arrangement if the lights and sound system were anything to go by. Both girls were content, they had lights and music and open space, which were all they actually craved. Being outdoors offered the added freedom of fresh air and the beauty of a starlit sky. All in all, they couldn't have asked for more.

"I'm so lucky to have you." Quinn exclaimed over the sounds of the speakers. "May I have this dance, Miss Lopez? She didn't wait for a reply, just extended her hand to the other girl and led her into empty space. They danced together all night in their own rhythm. The styles of the music went unheeded, the girls simply moving fast or slow as their own whims took them. The crowds began departing once dawn broke. Quinn hung back slightly with Santana standing close by, surveying the colours of the sunrise illuminating the grass. Only then did it feel right to go.

Lima was still slumbering as they crept back, everything dull and dark. It wasn't the first time that they had done this and they both knew it wouldn't be the last as they giggled together conspiratorially. There were no sights of life anywhere yet and Quinn imagined the pair of them as though they were the two lone survivors of a post-apocalyptic world. She visualised the town as a vast ash smothered wasteland. It was a game she played in her mind often, especially since she had been back, the landscape just leant itself to her macabre mental pictures. She had become fixated on the idea of Lima's landmarks being obliterated. Usually, however she was alone in this backdrop of her creation, but this time, she found the prospect of sharing the desolate scene oddly comforting. Not that she would ever indulge in this diversion with Santana; the girl already thought she was bizarre enough. Her thoughts were interrupted by the other girl whispering in her ear.

"Why am I not surprised that he's doing the walk of shame." Quinn snapped her head up, her line of sight immediately following Santana's unyielding gaze. The Latina was clearly bemused as she ogled Puck's progress on the other end of the street, but Quinn was not. His stride was relaxed and unhurried, yet wobbly enough to suggest that he was still a little drunk. The blonde's heart beat a little faster of its own accord as she watched him because it was such a familiar sight, nothing much had changed, from his gait to the way his jacket was slung carelessly over his shoulder in a way that left the sleeve trailing carelessly against the ground.

"He has his ways and I have mine, sometimes the paths converge." She muttered, more to herself that the girl at her side. Santana continued to watch Puck, a faint smirk on her lips. The boy likewise spotted their approach and saluted with a lopsided grin.

"How's tricks, Lopez, Baby mama?" He called. Quinn scowled, riled by the use of her old nickname. Being around Puck meant reminders that she'd rather not endure. She couldn't understand how he could be so casual. It made her irrationally angry, then and now, how little he seemed to care that he had brought everything crashing down. The Latina sensed her rage and took her arm.

"Take it easy; don't let him spoil what has been a great night." Quinn knew that the other girl was right so she held her tongue, counting the steps until she was behind closed doors. It was all just so impossible. He kept calling to her, laughing and smiling. She hated him for that. She couldn't hold in her fury anymore.

"You really don't give a shit about anything do you?" She snarled, rushing towards him. His eyes widened in confusion, but the blonde kept coming. "Was it worth it, screwing her; was she incredible between the sheets? I certainly hope so, I'd like to think you have that memory to cling to at least, because your pathetic libido cost us everything! Why her, why did you have to fuck Shelby of all people…"

"Quinn-" Santana tried, pulling her away even as her fists pounded against Puck's hard abs.

"No! He never even admitted that he did anything wrong. Just tell me you're sorry, just once, you bastard, I want to hear it."

"Get off your high horse, Quinn, you wouldn't have even got to see Beth if it wasn't for me, I had to beg Shelby to let you anywhere near her and you know it. I'm not sorry; I was trying to give Beth a family. Don't act like you were innocent in any of this, if you hadn't antagonised her so much in the first place maybe…"

Quinn flailed against the barricade of Santana's arms, but in spite of her handful, the Latina didn't hesitate in squaring off against Puck. "Don't you dare try and pin this on her, it's all on you Puckerman, because you couldn't keep your schoolboy dick in your pants." She sneered down at him angrily, taking in his appearance and calculating the direction he came from. "I guess something's never change, huh? How is Mrs Holloway doing these days? Isn't she getting a little too mature these days, even by your standards? I mean, she's looking a little grey. Hey, tell me, do the collars match the cuffs?" Puck stared at her in disbelief as she dragged her friend away. "Actually, I don't want to know."

Since she didn't know what else to do, once they got inside, Quinn accepted Santana's offer of a glass of water drank every drop. Strangely, the action was rather successful. Quinn managed a smile as she put the glass down. "You're the best, San." She mumbled affectionately, hanging onto the ease with which Santana had effectively, in a sense, verbally castrated Puck. It made her happy that Santana was always there to help and defend her. She hugged the other girl briefly and collapsed into bed. "Will you hold me until I fall asleep?" Quinn asked, it was still difficult to be so utterly vulnerable around anybody, but it was getting easier with Santana.

The other girl snuggled closer, wrapping her body around the blonde's like a protective cocoon as Quinn sagged into the embrace. "You don't have to ask." The Latina whispered back without missing a beat.


	7. Chapter 7

**I'm not really sure if I like this update. It feels kind of all over the place. It's like my brain went sadness…angst…happiness…fluff…sadness…anger… in some kind of mad loop and then just vomited my mixed feelings that I have been dealing with lately all over the chapter. So, I'm sorry if it feels a little off.**

**I hope you will find things to enjoy anyway, and we are getting some progression. Things are on track for happiness. I can't wait to write their weekend away together, I feel like that will be a turning point with regards to feelings changing from friendship. Anyway, I won't give anything more away. Thanks for reading and the love.**

"We need to talk. I've been thinking about your reaction to Puck the other day. Don't get me wrong, I understand, I wanted to kill him too, but this…It's more. I could give a fuck about Noah Puckerman, but you on the other hand, I care. It hurts me to see you like that. Clearly you haven't dealt with any of this and it's bad Q. It'll eat you alive if you don't do something…" Quinn was barely awake, but the speech cut through her stupor like a knife. When Santana hadn't immediately mentioned the incident she had assumed it would be forgotten about. Apparently she was just biding her time.

Quinn lashed out, going on the attack to deflect from her unwillingness to discuss the boy. She didn't want to look to closely at her own feelings, much less offer them up to Santana's scrutiny. It was a mess. He was poison root tainting her tree, everything could be traced back to him and it was too excruciatingly painful to think about. The hate that burned within her was terrifying because she had no control. When it came to hurting Puck she had nothing to lose, nothing to rein her in, she was worried what she might do and what might happen if she vocalised any of her rage. It was safer to keep it all inside where nobody except herself realised how deeply it ran.

"You sound like my fucking shrink, or my mother. Both useless, I don't need this from you." The blonde rolled over and away, facing the wall. Nonetheless she sensed Santana's frustration and couldn't hide from the harsh sound of her exasperated sigh. There it was the inevitable disappointment. Everyone close to her felt it eventually, why should Santana be any different. The honeymoon period was firmly over it seemed, and she briefly pondered how long she had realistically expected it to last for. "I don't need you to fix me or state the obvious, thank you very much." She mumbled, letting her words rebound off the walls. Quinn felt like an animal being prodded with a stick, she had thought they were past this, she had believed Santana accepted her flaws and was happy to let her be. She wondered when the room had gotten so cold. Was the chill in the air caused as a result of the tension that had sprung up to snare her? It was all too much, too soon. She could never be ready for this ambush.

There were no words to defend her; she had used them up long ago. It was always the same; she was the pretty damsel in distress, and each time a new misguided knight in shining armour was substituted in. Different names and faces but the same situation, it was both exhausting and futile. So many boys had tried to save her, reshape her, help her, as though she was some pet project. They just wanted to be heroes and protect the tragic girl who was drowning in her pool of tears. It was a romantic image, but nothing new and of no real benefit. Quinn had quickly gotten sick and tired of playing out these scenes. Rachel had been the last contender to try, reaching out across time zones, but a disconnected voice on the phone or blurry ink on a page wasn't enough. Quinn had balked at her invention as she had all the rest. She was good at pushing people away. She had hoped she wouldn't have to add Santana to the growing list.

"What do you need then? Tell me because I have no fucking idea what is it we are doing here. It's never ending circles with you. I thought I was making things better, you seemed happier, I just want…" Santana stalled and the blonde felt her hand on her shoulder. Quinn pulled away and imagined the hurt in her friend's eyes, grateful that she couldn't see. The facts were these, she refused to apologise again, yet Santana's words were truth. She had felt more contented, better than she had in a long time. That was the problem. Highs were always followed by crippling lows. She was sinking now. Nothing good ever lasted. How could it when she didn't deserve even the fleeting moments of joy that she gleaned from the Latina's presence. She was toxic, this was the proof. She poisoned everything. Seeing Puck last night drilled it into her. As much as she tried to be done with the past, it wasn't through with her.

The words flowed out of her like fresh tears. Quinn knew she was rambling and that the sentences were being wasted, but she couldn't stop herself. "I just want to get out of here; I want options, the luxury of somewhere else to go, a place where I actually want to be. I want a life that isn't tainted by regret, I want a future, and I, well, most of all, I want to stop feeling like this…"

Santana pulled her upwards so that their faces were inches apart. It was startling but she didn't back away. "You can still have all those things." She whispered as though sharing some treasured secret. Quinn didn't smile or nod. She didn't believe.

"It's too late." She murmured.

"It's never too late." Santana retorted fiercely, pushing at the loose strands of hair that hung over her face, masking her eyes. "Look at me, Q." She insisted. "We're all a long time dead, but you haven't reached there yet, there is plenty of time, plenty of chances. I'm not giving up on you."

"You say that now-" Quinn began with a shake of her head. Santana placed a finger on her lips.

"It's a Santana Lopez promise, and I never go back on on my word. There is nothing you can do to make me let go. I've been around for too long, through too much." She clasped the sides of Quinn's face, smirking. "Besides, I know all your secrets." Quinn smiled in spite herself as Santana chuckled evilly. It was a weak smile that didn't reach up to warm the sea of hazel in her eyes, but at least it was genuine.

Quinn slumped down onto the bed again when Santana released her from her grasp. She was just glad that the conversation hadn't continued any further, she couldn't stomach a heart to heart in that instant. It was too early and she was too empty. Santana deserved more than insincere phrases and crocodile tears, which is all she would get if she pushed before the other girl was ready. Quinn only ever opened up on her own terms. She scowled, not lifting her head up from the softness. Her voice was muffled. "Alright fine, just don't start singing or anything."

"Who do you think I am, Rachel Berry? Now get up, this love-in is starting to make my teeth hurt. So we're going to get some breakfast before I pass out."

"I'm tired." Quinn whined. Honestly her head was full of thoughts of running into Puck again. She had to fight the urge to check the clock, calculating whether or not the boy would be up yet. She chewed her bottom lip unseen, cursing the fact that she didn't live in a big city with a thriving, anonymous population. Small town America sucked.

Santana responded by pulling the duvet off the bed roughly. Quinn groaned, shivering as she pressed her face resolutely against the pillow. "No, you're depressed, now get dressed, I'm serious."

"You suck." The blonde huffed, aware and yet unrepentant that she sounded like a pouty toddler.

Santana didn't cave in. "You love me. Now, COME ON!" She replied, tugging on the other girl's limp arm. Clearly Quinn wasn't going to get any peace so she stood up and trudged towards the bathroom, taking clothes that the Latina thrust at her. She inhaled Santana's unmistakably spicy scent, the hints of sweetness that resembled cinnamon. The fragrance that was only and inherently the Latina's clinging to the fabric. It was soothing and she breathed deeply, savouring the smell before it was overtaken by her own. However, borrowing the clothes made her wistful that the little piece of Santana wouldn't last and she wasn't sure why that made her sad, but it did.

Quinn forced herself into the plush leather of Santana's mustang and instead of the Latina, she found a note waiting for her there. The blonde noticed that it was addressed to her, despite resting on the driver's side of the window. She reached over and glanced at it, intrigued.

_I, Santana Lopez, am hereby giving you permission to drive my car. Here's what I want you to do, go home, take a shower and pack a bag. We'll meet back here ASAP so hurry okay? S xx_

Quinn smiled and folded the piece of paper trying not to smudge the hasty scrawl as she placed it into the pocket of her borrowed sweatpants. She didn't immediately start the engine, heading back to the house, bemused. "What the hell, San?" She called up the stairs.

"Didn't you get my note?" The other girl retorted, an unattached voice hidden away in her bedroom. "Get going Fabray!"

She chuckled, unmoving at the bottom of the stairs. "So, what, no breakfast?"

Santana did appear then, her arms folded across her chest resolutely. She stamped her feet impatiently, huffing. "What I've got planned is better." She added with a grin.

With a little shake of her head Quinn turned on her heels and did as instructed. Unsure, she filled her small holdall with enough clothes for a few days, planning for any contingency. She was back at Santana's door in less than 30 minutes. The Latina was already loitering impatiently in the driveway, sitting on her suitcase as she studied a map which she hastily hid from view as her friend approached. Quinn switched into the passenger seat, pausing to load the other girl's luggage into the truck. It was a ploy to try and figure out how much Santana had packed, although she found it impossible to guess. In the end she decided to bite the bullet and just ask, hoping against hope that her best friend wouldn't keep her in the dark about what she had planned.

"So, where are we going?"

Santana kept her eyes fixed straight ahead, as her house disappeared from view. "Myrtle Beach." She replied matter of factly.

Quinn's stared at her in astonishment. "That's 12 hours away."

Santana nodded. "I know. You said that you wanted to get away from here and go somewhere that you actually want to be. Somehow I didn't think that a meal at Breadstix and a trip to the next town over would cut it so…" She turned to Quinn smiling. "Buckle up, it's a long drive. Oh, and I suggest you get some rest because it'll be your turn to take the wheel soon enough."

Quinn had a million questions. She longed to ask how her friend had thought of this idea, how she had managed to organise everything so quickly without her knowledge and mostly if she would be okay to take the time of work. None of this seemed real. They had been in bed an hour ago, dead to the world. She was amazed. Santana had really listened to her venting and rather than casting her worries aside, she had decided to help. It was mindboggling and a million miles from her memories of a hostile teenage cheerleader who seemed to only be waiting for gaps in the conversation that meant it was her turn to speak. Not anymore, Santana Lopez was all grown up. She wasn't afraid to show that she cared. Clearly Quinn had the best friend in the world.

When the blonde was recovered enough to speak, what came out her mouth wasn't any heartfelt expression of thanks or any outlet for her prior concerns or questions. "You're honestly letting me drive your car twice in one day. Wow." That was the only thing she managed to voice.

Santana chuckled. "Don't get used to it, today is the exception, not the rule."

There was definitely no escaping the fact that it was a long drive. Quinn dozed for a while at first, but she felt guilty if she slept for too long and heady mixture of the excitement and sunshine made it pretty much impossible to close her eyes for any considerable stretch. Instead, she listened to the stereo, singing loudly and deliberately out of tune to amuse the other girl. Occasionally they performed duets but the blonde was forced to put a stop to that after the Latina danced a little too vigorously and caused the car to swerve into another lane.

"We can't fully enjoy the beach if we're both in wheelchairs." Quinn muttered as Santana rolled her eyes refusing to admit that she was shook up by the near miss. A comfortable silence fell for a while punctuated by Santana's fingers casually drumming the steering wheel in time to the melody. The blonde looked out window, her happiness building as Ohio began to fade away. Quinn knew that a place was just a place, but nonetheless she couldn't help feeling trapped by the negativity that seemed to surround her, ensnaring her anytime she was within a few mile radius of her hometown. She took a deep breath and released it without feeling stifled by the heavy weight that was usually ever present on her chest. "This might be the best idea you've ever had." She admitted in a whisper.

"Stick with me, Q, I'm full of them." The blonde laughed. It was true, although other people might argue the opposite, that Santana Lopez was a fountain of bad ideas. The thing that Quinn knew for sure was that is she scoured her memories, most of the fun she could remember having could always be traced back to the Latina. Since they met in childhood, the girl had become a synonymous force for outrageous decisions that were nonetheless not the type to regret or refuse, surrounding Quinn with mischief and laughter.

Even when things got bad, the reaching the pinnacle of her lowest ebb, Santana could always elicit some semblance of mirth, be in a half-hearted smirk that graced her friend's features as a result of her antics or a full-blown fit of hysterical giggles. Case in point, Quinn reminded herself how sad she had felt this morning, compared to now. In truth, she reflected on the surge of melancholy that she forever equated with waking, and how that seemed less overwhelming when she was faced with her best friend's star fish shaped form spanning half the bed as she slept. It was as scary as it was comforting though. She shouldn't need anyone; after all, she had worked hard to rely only on herself for so long. Yet, she was powerless to argue that the negative feelings didn't linger half as long anymore and she had only one person to thank for turning this corner. The blonde wasn't sappy enough to believe that Santana's presence alone had cured her. That kind of thinking was the stuff of awful Hollywood drivel, even though she was undeniably making progress, and in spite of their altercation hours before both girls knew it.

She bit her lip as Quinn tried to focus on the positive of this revelation and not the fear of how much she had grown to need Santana. That was totally contradictory to all she knew. Co-dependence wasn't in her vocabulary. She grimaced as she watched the Latina's smiling face covertly behind the screen of her wind-swept fringe. Quinn was aware that she was breaking all her established rules and yet even as she considered this, she understood that she always had around this girl. After all, this was her longest functioning relationship. Somehow, in spite of everything, it had persisted, stronger than the blackness within her, the distance between them, and all the obstacles. Furthermore, instead of merely surviving it had deepened and changed and grew.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled. The girl had meant to apply her apologies purely to her actions that morning, but in the light of her contemplations they came to cover much more than that. She was admitting that she was in too deep now, and as well as smoothing over what was done, she hoped that Santana could see that she was also attempting to pave the way for whatever fuck-ups she was likely to cause in the future because as inevitable as they were, the girls were undoubtedly stuck with each other regardless.

Santana brushed off the words, but Quinn could see that she appreciated and comprehended what they heralded. The blonde smiled. She had finally caught up to what the former cheerleader had been saying since day one. She had just been too stubborn to believe that the other girl had actually meant her love on a level beyond residual loyalty left over from years of patchy friendship and words spoken during moments of much needed comfort on both sides. Her eyes were open now, this friendship was forever.

"Q, I have to tell you something." Normally those words would trigger the deep seated dread in Quinn's gut but she was feeling calmer and in a good place in light of everything she had managed to deconstruct and figure out within the confines of her mind. This time had been productive. Nothing bad could happen during this drive. "I confess that I had ulterior motives, besides the obvious desire for escape when planning this journey." Quinn looked at her quizzically but didn't interrupt. "Being in a car for hours, with nowhere to run, seemed like the perfect opportunity to finish the talk that you bailed on this morning."

The blonde tensed. There they were again, those hostile feelings of ambush from hours before. She knew why Santana felt it was necessary, compulsory even, to address everything she had buried, but that didn't mean that Quinn relished the excavation process anymore just because it was her caring best friend instead of a detached paid stranger doing the asking. "What else is there to say? You know it all, seriously; we've discussed it all to death, haven't we?"

The other girl scoffed. "Hardly." She turned to the blonde and squeezed her hand, smoothing it tightly. Santana exhaled nervously. "We need to discuss the Puck situation."

Quinn shook her head, swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat. "No." Her voice sounded clipped and strangled as it always did whenever the boy was mentioned. "I can't…"

"You can't avoid this or him forever. This isn't like being home for a few weeks of Christmas Break and keeping your head down. Face it; you are both living in Lima now. You are obviously going to run into him again and next time I might not be there to pick up the pieces." Quinn howled at Santana to pull over but she obstinately refused, keeping the mustang travelling at the same steady pace. There was no escape. "This has gone on long enough." The Latina remarked, her voice thick with quiet determination.


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm sorry for the delay; I have been both busy and uninspired which isn't a very happy mix unfortunately, and is all too common for me lately. I blame Tumblr also for distracting me. **

**I hope you enjoy the update, it's only short compared to previous chapters but this seemed like a good stopping point and I feel like Myrtle Beach deserves it's on chapter. On the plus side, this is the beginning of genuine ****FEELINGS**** on Santana's behalf, which have been building and been hinted at for a while, at least in my mind anyway. Thanks for sticking with me.**

Quinn sighed. She didn't meet Santana's eyes, fiddling with her seatbelt as she pondered the other girl's words. "Alright, I'll tell you, but only because I don't want you sulking the rest of the drive. Plus, you spout considerably less bullshit than my therapist."

Santana grinned. "I'm cheaper by the hour too."

The blonde smirked, raising her eyebrow with a snort. "You do realise what you just said makes you sound like a hooker."

The Latina grimaced. It was her turn to shuffle uncomfortably in her seat. She kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead and cleared her throat, switching the focus back to her friend unflinchingly. "Moving on, we were talking about you."

Quinn shook her head, wishing that she didn't have to have this conversation. She took a deep breath and exhaled with exaggerated slowness. "Anyway, the truth is that, me and Puck, I never told you the whole story." The blonde took another halting breath and swept an unruly piece of hair away from her forehead. She couldn't stall forever though. "It was never totally about Shelby or Beth, well it was, but…there was more, I guess."

"No shit Sherlock! You have no idea how long I have been waiting for you to admit that. Your unresolved feelings for him are almost as blatant as the girl boner you've been harbouring for Berry all these years."

The girl flooded crimson. "Santana!" She reached across and punched her friend hard on the bicep, no longer caring that she was driving.

"Sorry." She mumbled. The Latina didn't even look apologetic. "How many times did you have sex with him then, you know after the whole virginity thing?"

The girl cringed at her friend's brashness. "It wasn't like that." She admitted quietly. Quinn felt pain flare deep in her chest as she remembered. "It was only once, we didn't even, I mean, we fooled around a little bit that's all. I thought he was being sweet, not wanting to take advantage, but then he told me about her and his reluctance clicked into place suddenly." She watched as Santana's hands clenched against the steering wheel. The girl didn't bother to disguise the anger in her voice and it made the blonde feel slightly happier to hear it lurking there. In spite of everything, a small part of her had expected the fiery Latina to turn on her, so she was relieved not to become the target of her rage.

"Wait, so let me get this straight, moments after having your tongue in her mouth, with his arms around you, the guy decides that this is the perfect moment to tell you that he fucked someone else, and not just anybody, Shelby?"

The blonde looked away, staring out of the window, her voice cracking as she replied. "Yeah, that about sums it up. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, it's just, I practically threw myself at him and well…" She bit her lip not wanting to finish that sentence.

Santana put her hand on the other girl's knee gently. "Jesus Q, that's rough."

"When he came over I thought that I could finally get everything that I'd never really let myself have, you know, but all I got was the reminder of why I kept him at arm's length, in spite of all the smiles, the shared looks, he was never mine. He didn't want me like that. He'd only loved the idea of me, and then once that was gone…well, there was only Beth. It was like he didn't see me anymore."

Santana took a moment to reflect, processing this extra dimension to a story that she thought she had memorised. "And I thought the betrayal was bad before…damn. No wonder you wanted to kill him. Next time, I'll help you, hold him down or something."

Quinn laughed. "That wasn't the goal of this little exercise; I thought you wanted me to let go, move on." She turned to Santana with the ghost of a smile on her lips. "What happened to, this has gone on long enough?"

"Fuck that." Santana replied furiously. She didn't hide from the force of her temper like Quinn did.

The blonde grinned. "You'd make a crap shrink but, all the same, have I told you how lucky I am to have you?"

Santana returned the smile and gave the other girl's hand a gentle squeeze. "Maybe once or twice." Under her breath she uttered a warning that was no less potent for being softly spoken. It was barely audible; the only words that Quinn could catch were "Puckerman better watch out..." she thought it was better that she didn't hear the rest. Clearly Snix hadn't been fully retired after all.

Quinn felt better for sharing even though nothing had ultimately changed. She still very real issue of having to share Lima's small square footage with Puck. Nevertheless, it had re-enforced the knowledge that the Latina had her back, no matter what, and under Santana's wing was a very safe place to be. "Thanks, San." She mumbled happily. It amused her to recall that she had been more thankful to her best friend in the short time since she had come home than all the years prior. There was a time that the former cheerleader would have snarked at her, biting her head off if she risked the exchange of pleasantries, and realistically it wouldn't have occurred to her either. They were both far away from the high school HBIC caricatures that they had fiercely defended and clung to for so long. Little by little, the falseness had been peeled away, stripped by encounters and experiences that had shaped them. For Santana, that reason had been Brittany, until recently when Quinn had taken up the mantle herself. It had proved mutual. The blonde had begun shedding her final layer that day in Breadstix, and she imagined the final stubborn pieces sliding free now, scattering on the breeze. She lit a celebration cigarette triumphantly, and ignoring the level of fuss Santana was making over the smoke infiltrating her precious car's interior, Quinn began blowing smoke rings out of the window in earnest.

By the time they agreed to stop for the night, the novelty of being entrusted with Santana's most treasured possession had long worn off. The blonde was sick of driving; each individual muscle in her body seemed to be protesting as the shadows lengthened. The only consolation during this slog, especially during the last lonely stretch as Santana slept, was that they had made good progress and they would reach Myrtle Beach by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. It was the excitement of this, and the warm glow that existed alongside the knowledge that her best friend had planned this for her, which made her endure the extra miles. Quinn had done more than her share gladly, keen not to make this part of the trip last longer than necessary. She wanted to enjoy the beach not be stuck pouting in a hot metal box as the traffic bottlenecked for hours on end. In short, the open road was rapidly losing its appeal and cabin fever was setting in. "It's going to be a while before I opt for another road trip after this." The blonde muttered to herself, massaging her aching temples.

She did have to concede though, on the plus side, that all this driving had allowed her ample time to think, the benefits of which would never be lost on her. Nobody had ever thought of Quinn Fabray as a thoughtful person, in spite of all the times that she swayed in the background, more often than not with a book in hand or lying open safely within reach. They didn't realise that lonely little Lucy only had her imagination to escape to, and that Lucy and Quinn were in reality one and the same. The surprise on her friends' faces when she got into Yale only seemed to reinforce how little they really knew about what went on behind those hazel eyes. She hadn't minded, she kind of liked the fact that they saw her in the most convenient ways, defining her to fit their easy moulds. It meant that she didn't have to try. Even when the secrets did come tumbling out, nobody ever really stopped to question it, and that too didn't bother her. Re-invention may have a family trait which she had mastered young, but introspection wasn't, that she was still learning, even now, in her twenties and she was grateful any opportunities to reflect.

Santana stirred, breaking the silence with a loud yawn. "How long was I out?"

Quinn shook herself. "About 2 hours." She replied with a shrug.

"You should have woken me, Jeez; I'm such a bad passenger." Santana groaned, running her fingers through her hair. It refused to be tamed so with an angry frown she scooped up the unruly strands until they were secured in a loose bun at the nape of her neck.

"It's fine." The blonde replied absently because truthfully it was, but she didn't want to explain all the reasons that she relished time alone with her thoughts. Santana would just accuse her of being depressive and gloomy, which she couldn't deny, or assume she was moping over Puck, which she didn't want to delve into again. Instead, she pulled into the parking lot of the diner without saying another word. The Latina smiled appreciatively as she clocked her surroundings and raced out of the car, her mind already on the cheeseburger that Quinn instinctively knew she had been craving. It was a shared desire and the blonde scoured the floor for a waitress, ordering a double bacon cheeseburger and vanilla milkshake before the poor girl could even blink.

They devoured the food with a quickness that didn't seem humanly possible. "Damn Fabray, take a breath." Santana finally quipped even as she consumed her own extra-large burger in an equally unladylike fashion. "What's the occasion?"

Quinn ignored her friend. "I thought you'd be glad that I don't live entirely on coffee, cynicism and cigarettes." The blonde drawled. She was too tired to really fight back and her usual bank of insults appeared to have dried up at that moment.

"In that case I'll assume it's the celebratory aspect of being away from Ohio that has got you behaving like an actual human being for once." Quinn scowled and stared at the Latina darkly. The sight was further enhanced by dishevelled appearance, her neglected eyeliner casting dark shadows on her face. Santana chuckled in response. "Don't act like you don't survive off, like, the misery of your fellow man usually, you're a magnet for misery, Q and you adore it."

The blonde rolled her eyes. The banter was a little too close to the bone to be truly amusing. "I guess that's why I'm stuck with your sorry ass then." She replied half-heartedly, taking a long sip on her straw.

The other girl sensed her heart wasn't in it and let it go. "Don't sweat it, this whole emo chick thing is really working for you babe." She smiled at the blonde with a gentle nod, which Quinn returned because she knew that those words were as close as Santana Lopez would ever come to outright admitting that it was okay to be fucked up sometimes and that she understood the pull of despair.

After dinner they checked into a nearby motel and sleep came fast for Quinn. That fact was proof of how deeply her exhaustion extended because, not that she would confess it, but under normal circumstances she would have missed the feel of Santana's warm body just inches away and sleep would have been impossible in the tiny single bed. After all, rarely did either girl sleep alone anymore. In the endless circle of late nights and lazy days, they found themselves at each other's houses more often than not. It became habit to sleep side by side, even when Santana was working early shifts at Breadstix, just a continuation of their closeness now. That was also why, hours later when her eyelids flickered open upon the darkened room, it didn't strike her as odd to discover that her friend had disregarded her own bed and crawled in beside her. However, what was surprising was that when she awoke for a second time, her wakefulness coinciding with the beginnings of dawn's early light filtering in and casting a dull glow on the lacklustre furnishings, the girl found the Latina awake and studying her.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked sleepily before the watchful gaze became unnerving or she dozed off again.

Santana blinked; seemingly surprised that she had been caught out. "Can I ask you a question?"

Quinn was intrigued. "Go ahead." She remarked.

"Well, something has been bugging me, now that I know the full story with Puckerman. I'm aware that you can't forgive him for what he did and you rightly blame him for the way things went south with Shelby, but…well… I guess I'm asking if you still love him." The blonde stared at the Latina in amazement, totally stunned by the words that had just come out of her mouth. She wondered if perhaps she was still dreaming because all this talk of love was so un-Santana like. It was surreal and she blinked to test out her theory but, in spite of this, the other girl continued, albeit with an apparent degree of nervousness and a sudden aspect of self-consciousness creeping into her speech. "It might sound stupid, but everyone knows that there is a thin line between love and hate."

The blonde grunted at the cliché. "In this case, there is no reading between the lines; hate is just hate, plain and simple. Maybe if things were different, but you said yourself, I cannot forgive him so..." She turned to look at Santana again, her best friend still curled tightly at her side upon the confines of the mattress. She smiled at the sight because it was borderline ridiculous, especially when coupled with the current topic of conversation and at once she felt like she was 13 years old again, awake and whispering in her bunk at cheer camp."Why does this bother you so much? It's ancient history."

Santana sighed; it was comparatively loud in the stillness. "I don't know…I…" She blushed slightly, averting her eyes as she choked out the next hesitant sentence. "It's your history and I… care about you, a lot."

Quinn planted a gentle kiss against her best friend's closed eyelids. "I know San; I care about you too, silly. Now stop stressing about my non-existent love life and go back to sleep. We have to get back on the road in a few hours."


	9. Chapter 9

**Firstly, I would like to sincerely apologise for how long it has taken me to upload this chapter. Unfortunately my well-laid plans meant high expectations and I have lost count of the number of times that I re-wrote or deleted parts of this chapter. I hope it's worth the wait. Secondly I would like to admit that I copped out with the ending, it was not the one I had planned, but the proposed plot just wouldn't write itself. On the plus side that means we get to spend longer with Quinn and Santana at the beach and I think you will like what happens next.**

**Thanks again for your patience and feedback.**

Myrtle Beach was everything Santana promised and more. Funnily enough, it wasn't even about the attractions, because as excited as the blonde had been when Santana spoke about the boardwalk or the Skywheel, and irrespective of the way she had begrudgingly patted the smug Latina on the back for choosing a destination that was home to one of the largest water parks on the eastern seaboard, both girls knew that it genuinely wasn't about any of that. It never would be, they could be anywhere. It was like pointing to a dot on the map, akin to a careless spin of a plastic globe. What this trip actually signified was escapism in the purest form, and more than that, it was about reigniting the flame that had flickered and died within Quinn Fabray. Whether that light had been crudely snuffed out, extinguished by the actions of others or left neglected by the girl herself was of no consequence anymore. It ceased to be relevant. The blonde had told her friend that she wanted not only to be somewhere else, but to stop feeling like she had been and the other girl had delivered both of her wishes, on a silver platter, right at her feet. Therefore, Quinn, in her melancholy, didn't have a leg to stand on. She was left with nothing but a decision and she chose, as the final miles melted away. That was it, from this day on; the blonde was done with obsessing over the wrongs of her life. She was leaving her black clouds over Lima, Ohio.

She smiled at Santana as she parked, but before she could voice her appreciation, the girl took her hand off the steering wheel and raised it. "Do not thank me again." She ordered. "I forbid you, if I've heard it once, I've heard it a thousand times and we haven't even checked into our swanky lodgings yet." The gleam in her eye as she made reference to the accommodation made Quinn pause; any rebukes she had planned to utter in her defence were abandoned. The Latina had been notoriously secretive about where they were staying and the blonde's interest was firmly piqued.

"That better not be your idea of a joke, if we're camping, I swear to god…" Quinn trailed off. They weren't 10 years old anymore, and her enthusiasm for tents and damp sleeping bags had waned about the time she swapped her glasses for contact lenses and Barbie dolls for pompoms. Santana knew this, so the blonde hoped that she'd have taken on board her avid dislike.

"Don't worry Q, they don't have poison oak here." Santana retorted with a sly smirk. It was obviously hard for her to suppress her laughter as she remembered the incident that she making reference to, but the other girl was far from amused. The drunken camp-out in question, which had occurred during the latter half of her first year of college, had only cemented her distain for the great outdoors. The force of the hazel eyed glare was met with a quiet snort. "Relax princess, you'll like it, this is all for you, don't forget." In spite of the slightly patronising nickname, Quinn was appeased and her mood flipped back to a positive sort of agitation. For all the Latina's teasing, she was known for legendary surprises, so it was safe to assume that torture wasn't on the cards. So, with relief, the girl let her guards came down.

"So, where are we staying?" She asked, trying again for a straightforward response. It was difficult to keep her tone nonchalant when in reality she was barely daring to even picture how perfect the scenario could potentially be in case it didn't materialise. Her imagination allowed her to visualise everything from the meagre camping grounds to top notch hotels with private swimming pools, the possibilities were endless and her heart soared. In truth, Quinn had only a few hundred dollars to her name, and unless she got a job the instant that they got back, or begged her father for some money, neither of which was very plausible, there wasn't much chance of an exotic holiday anytime soon. This was it and she didn't want to be forced to swallow her disappointment down yet again in the wake of something she had been set to enjoy. Unknowingly, Santana had put a lot of pressure on herself, not that she appeared remotely fazed by her friend's anxiety. The dark haired girl just smiled knowingly.

"You'll see." She purred, enjoying every second of the power she wielded. Quinn couldn't even sulk for long. Her feet danced in the foot wells and she tugged at her seatbelt eagerly, already raring to go. Santana sensed the enthusiasm and matched it. "I'll race you!" She exclaimed, and in a tangle of limbs she hopped out.

"But, I don't even know which way we're going…" Quinn called after her, rapidly accelerating to join the chase because in spite of the fact that it was unlikely she could gain the lead, she would never willingly let herself be beaten by the former cheerleader.

"You might just be able to follow my footsteps in the sand, if you're lucky!" The other girl retorted boastfully from ahead, even as Quinn fought to close the gap between them.

By the time they reached the destination, the blonde, although clearly in second place, was breathless. She glanced at the Latina, who wasn't faring much better, her skin glistening in the humid air. "God, imagine if our teenage selves could see us now." Quinn gasped.

Santana nodded. "Yeah, it's almost sickening, huh, that would have been a walk in the park compared to what Coach Sylvester would've had us doing." She brushed her curls away from her sticky forehead. "I blame the weather; it's fucking hotter here than Lima has ever been, including that heat wave when we wore bikinis every day for a month."

Quinn smiled, at both the memory and the truth of the statement. "I'd be disappointed if it wasn't, San." The girl looked at her quizzically. "Didn't you do your homework? Myrtle Beach has a subtropical climate." The Latina rolled her eyes, which only added as an incentive for the other girl to slip in another fact. "It has on average, 2800 hours of sunshine annually."

"How do you know that shit Fabray, is this the kind of stuff they teach you at Yale?" Santana jeered before her eyes momentarily widened as another idea sprung up, occupying the forefront of her mind. The blonde waited to see what her friend would aim at her next, faintly amused. "Please tell me you didn't smuggle Rachel Berry along in my trunk or something?"

She shook her head, laughing. "Actually, I pulled up Wikipedia on my phone, although, now you mention it, I wish I had thought of bringing her along as a stowaway, I know how bored you get of the radio." The look of object horror on Santana's face as a result of this hypothetical prospect caused Quinn to collapse in a fit of hysterical giggles.

The Latina wasn't pleased. She frowned, and her expression morphed into an angry grimace the louder the blonde's chuckles got. "You better not bore me to death with your geeky bullshit all weekend, Q." She moaned petulantly. Quinn didn't bother to reply, instead humming the melody to _Don't Rain on my Parade_ until she was silenced by a hard dig in the ribs. "I bring you for a romantic weekend away, and this is what I get?" Santana retorted, her head in her hands. "I'll teach you." She leapt at the blonde then, disregarding her exhaustion and the heat as they rolled on the sand.

Her chastisement prompted a full scale tickle fight that had them both squealing and squirming like children. Santana wanted a victory, Quinn could see that in her brown eyes, and she was left defenceless when the Latina used unscrupulous means to secure it. The blonde could only flail hopelessly as the other girl zoned in on her most ticklish location. It was the best kept secret amongst the Cheerios that Quinn Fabray went berserk if you touched a specific spot at the back of her knees and the other girl was unafraid to capitalise on that knowledge. The blonde shrieked. "Stop, Stop, I give in, I'm sorry! Jeez, Santana, quit it!" The Latina did eventually relent, fearing that the other girl would get a stitch or worse, vomit. She couldn't stop smiling smugly though, to the extent that Quinn almost preferred the tickles. Her chest was heaving so hard that she could barely even pout properly. Santana, on the other hand, had no problems standing up and brushing the loose sand free from her skin and clothes as the blonde watched in sullen silence.

The other girl extended her hand. "Come on, don't sulk, I'll help you up, we've got a lot of ground to cover." Quinn waved her away with a shake of her head. She propelled her body upwards herself instead, refusing to look at the other girl. "Don't be mad Quinnie bear." Santana retorted with exaggerated sweetness, scooping her up into her arms and spinning her around until she couldn't help but giggle.

"You're ridiculous." The Latina finally put her down, but didn't realise her hold. Their bodies were pressed tightly together and Quinn could feel her friend's heartbeat thudding in her chest.

"But you love me, right?" Santana whispered, her eyes shining as the blonde looked up. Hazel orbs locked with a sea of brown and the moment stretched out. Quinn could hardly breathe.

"San…" Before she could complete her sentence the Latina was grinning broadly, laughing it off as she untangled their arms. Quinn was left at a loss, staring at a girl who was impossible to read. Her friend was the best person she knew at keeping things locked inside, a true master of deflection. She tried again. "I-" In response, the Latina simply tugged on her arm.

"Let's go." She mumbled breezily, "It actually is quite a long walk." Quinn had no option but to follow since the other girl was walking so fast that she was genuinely concerned about losing sight of her. She wasn't giving up though, later they had to talk. She hadn't imagined the moment and it wasn't the first that had occurred between them. They needed to figure out what it all meant. She had to know if her friend was harbouring some displaced feelings for Brittany or whether it was something else. Either way she couldn't dismiss it as nothing; she had lost too many people as a result of inaction.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Quinn lost in her thoughts and assuming that the Latina was likewise occupied. Eventually, the looming structures that lined the path managed to tease her away from the confusion raging inside her head. She stopped. The blonde hadn't even noticed until then, but now she was utterly powerless to tear her gaze away. It was so idyllic, the muted tones looked like they belonged on an easel, carefully selected to complement not only each other, but the backdrop they faced. It resembled a perfectly composed watercolour and she itched to capture all of it. Unforgettable was a word used to readily, but it felt apt in that moment. She thought that on reflection, the Atlantic seemed bluer as a result, the colour of deepest sapphire. No place had ever seemed more inviting; Quinn ached under the burden of how deeply she longed to go inside. Her breath caught as she imagined coming home here, day after day, watching the waves ripple and splutter.

It was all her long buried childhood aspirations come to life and she lost herself temporarily to youthful thoughts of mermaids and secret messages in bottles. "How could you know?" She murmured inaudibly to herself, trailing behind and for once glad of the distance. Santana would only mock her, and she couldn't bear it, not this time. Quinn's jaw almost hit the floor as she realised that the other girl was not only slowing down but stopping too, keys jangling in her hand. "A beach house!" She squealed, hardly able to believe that the Latina had done this. The blonde flew right through the door, her psyche emptied of everything but the yearning to explore. She grabbed Santana's arm and dragged her alongside, not caring how ridiculous this might have seemed in contrast to her usual apathy. Soon, as they travelled from room to room, her cheeks hurt from smiling, and although Quinn was vaguely aware of her friend staring at her like she'd had a breakdown, she couldn't stop. Nobody had ever done things like this for her, even Alex, the best he had managed in 3 years was the occasional clichéd bunch of roses or champagne in a cheap hotel room, not that she could blame him. She hadn't deserved any more, looking back, he had probably been excessively generous considering how disconnected she had kept herself from him. She was left speechless, in the face of Santana's schemes. In all the years she had been dating, there had never been anything as thoughtful or spontaneous as this gesture. The blonde was utterly touched. "I can't believe this is for me." She finally managed to mumble, after crashing out on a soft canopied bed that she'd claimed for her own.

The Latina wrapped her arms around Quinn happily. "For us, I wants to gets my sunbathing on, you know." The blonde laughed as the other girl slipped in her high school persona and then just as quickly, shrugged it off again. "I'm glad you like it." Santana said softly, kissing the top of her head. There was no awkwardness, regardless of what had happened of the beach; Quinn was just flooded by feelings of happiness. She couldn't remember ever feeling in such high spirits.

However, it didn't last as long as anticipated. Her brow furrowed only minutes later, as her pragmatism overwhelmed the romance of the setting for the first time since their arrival. With a sigh, she bit her lip and posed the question that had suddenly surfaced. "I think this place is amazing, don't get me wrong, there's just one thing, how can you afford this place?" Notwithstanding continuous double shifts at Breadstix, Santana's wage would never stretch as far as a vacation rental with ocean views. That knowledge was potentially an unavoidable stumbling block to this adventure

"The Lopez connection." Quinn's brain had connected the dots even before the words had finished leaving the Latina's mouth and she almost slapped her forehead for overlooking Santana's vast network of extended family. It all made sense and she ended up with an answer to a question she hadn't even asked, knowing immediately why the other girl had settled for Myrtle Beach regardless of the distance. The blonde nodded approvingly. "So now that burning question has been satisfied, can you stop grilling me and fire up the actual grill, I'm starving!"

Quinn slid from the bed without complaint, it felt like the least she could do, and her earlier examination had found the fridge to be fully stocked so it wasn't much of a hardship anyway. She might have drawn the line at going to the store, her slothfulness winning out over her gratitude, but this she could handle. At any rate, she had never admitted this, but the girl was actually a rather competent cook. Her talents had remained hidden, in part, due to the mutual indifference that she and her boyfriends' had shared for slaving over a hot stove, and the fact that Alex, the only guy she had cared enough about to summon up any enthusiasm in the kitchen had taken over the duties himself. He had fancied himself as something of a wannabe chief, so the girl opted to hang back on the sidelines. The opportunity to take the reins again had reared its head many times since she had been home, but even from the safety and seclusion of Santana's house, the resentment she felt towards her mother's attempts to make her in the perfect little housewife had stopped her from enjoying the pursuit. The pleasure of baking for example was lost to her, becoming a chore as a result of Judy's ever present voice droning in her ear. She forced herself to grin and bear it now however, and as a favour to the Latina she had decided that she would excel. The blonde was adamant it would be the best barbeque that the other girl had ever eaten. It would be a thank you dinner, and more than that, Quinn hoped it would provide an opportunity for the two of them to talk.

Nevertheless, temptation loomed as she bent in front of the fridge, gathering ingredients in a slapdash fashion. As she pulled out the things she needed, her fingers ghosted over some expensive imported beer glistening on the shelf. Quinn could already taste the crispness coating her throat, but as she moved to grab a bottle, the sunlight dancing across the countertop made her pause. She was reminded that the day hadn't even reached its peak yet, and while drinking before lunch normally didn't cause her to raise an eyebrow, the grey skies of Ohio were far away and she had no need for chemical euphoria. Besides, she wanted a clear head and the guarantee of unmuddied senses. The blonde briefly toyed with the idea of coffee, but dismissed it as a clear substitution of one vice for another, that kind of thinking wouldn't serve her well and she refused to bow to those impulses. As an alternative, she etched a smiley face across the misted glass with her finger and reached for an iced tea with a bemused chuckle. The girl had never felt so sensible or grown up. It was vaguely alarming and she didn't know what was more settling about the notion, that it was occurring at all, or how comfortable she felt in this role.

"Maybe I'll make somebody a decent wife, after all." She mused as she put the finishing touches to the meal.


	10. Chapter 10

**This chapter turned out a lot more angsty than I originally planned. I'm sorry; I just automatically seem to go to that place with this pairing. It was hard for me to write for a lot of reasons that I won't bore you with, namely that, although I've had Santana emotionally mapped out for a while, I couldn't get a handle on how I wanted Quinn to feel and react. For that reason, I have a love-hate relationship with this chapter. I just hope that at least some of what I wanted to convey comes across.**

**Oh and if you're interested. The song I had in mind for Santana's impromptu acoustic set was **_**'All you wanted'**_** by **_**Michelle Branch**_**. I wanted something slightly cheesy that I could imagine the Unholy Trinity listening to as a guilty pleasure on car rides and this song came on to fit the bill as I was writing the update. I left the lyrics out though so that you can substitute whatever song you want that gives you the most Quinntana feelings.**

"I really don't want to be a killjoy, but I think that we-"

Brown eyes blazed. "Then don't!" The Latina interrupted, raising her voice slightly in an obvious warning. After what felt like the hundredth failed attempt at bringing up the moment that they shared at the beach, Quinn slammed down her water glass in frustration and reached for the wine that Santana had already been steadily consuming since the start of the meal. She clearly wasn't built to cope with these types of conversations anyway, living as she had in a house of silence where problems were ignored until they could be neatly swept away. Quinn couldn't win, so it seemed only right to fall back into familiar traps, trying and failing had landed her firmly on the kiddie's table and within the confines of her adolescent coping mechanisms once more. She sighed unhappily, knowing that as the situation currently stood, the only result that she was assured of was the steady buzz of a headache. It was time to cut her losses, write off the evening and embrace the blackout technique that Santana favoured to wipe the slate clean.

"So much for keeping a clear head." The edge of her glass collided with Santana's loudly. "Cheers!" The resulting anger at both herself and the girl opposite for not handling this situation like the adults they pretended that they were, made the grapes taste horribly acidic. She grimaced, unable to prevent the gesture and her best friend stared at her, partially reading her mind.

"Jesus, please don't sulk…" Just like that, she was fobbed off again, taking her number of botched attempts to 101.

Santana seemed intent upon keeping the conversation steered away from any serious topics and she couldn't break through the barriers of jokey banter and feigned indifference that she recognised so well. In fact, the whole act reminded her of the fabled dinner parties of her youth, whereby Quinn and her sister would watch warily from behind sculpted curls as their parents delighted in frivolous chitchat with their friends and neighbours. Anything deemed unsavoury or taboo was skated over and as a result nothing of substance was ever discussed, as the hours floated by, she was assured that her only concern was making sure that her pretty dress didn't get creased and that she always wore a smile on her face. The girl shuddered at the memory, swallowing down a final mouthful of wine before pushing the glass firmly out of reach. Her friend wasn't going to volunteer anything unless she dug tooth and claw for it. No more bullshit.

"Look, I don't know when exactly I turned into my therapist, but one thing is for sure, we need to talk about this properly. Just help me understand, okay? What's going on, with you, with us? Just tell me how you feel!"

Santana exhaled exaggeratedly. "Is it too much to ask that just this once you don't over-analyse things to death?" She snapped back irritably. Quinn blinked, startled by the attitude that spurred on her outburst and the resentful tone that lurked behind it. "If I have to hear one more word about your goddamn head doctor, I swear…" The Latina was like a furious stranger. "Jeez, calm your tits, will you? I hugged you. It doesn't automatically mean I want to jump your bones, although anybody would think that's what you wanted, the way you're badgering me about it!" The onslaught was almost physically painful, she couldn't remember the last time the other girl had raised her voice to her in recent history, much less spoken to her like that. In Quinn's eyes, the argument immediately changed things; it made everything they had built since her homecoming feel temporary. She wondered what other grudges Santana had secretly been harbouring, prepared only to release in a rage. It hurt to consider the possibilities.

"I guess the honeymoon period is over then." She retorted, hating herself for the way her bottom lip jutted out like a pouty child. However, the alternative was working the flesh between her teeth until it tore and bled, and she didn't want to give her friend the satisfaction of seeing how deeply this exchange had affected her since the Latina was seemingly unfazed herself, intent on getting up from the table before Quinn could stop her. "Go on then, go, and see if I care…" The blonde added, although the other girl's retreating form was long gone before the words escaped. Exasperated, she began clearing the table, throwing away the unfinished meal without a second thought and unsurprisingly finding herself loitering over the task longer than necessary in order to keep her mind occupied and her body from running uselessly after her friend.

Afterwards, unable to be still, her feet took her back to the fridge. Quinn stood in the pale glow, surveying the shelves. The bottles of beer were still stacked in a pristine pyramid, though the smiley face she had drawn earlier looked decidedly mocking now, so she wiped it away with the ball of her thumb and twisted the cap off, settling down for a long wait. Santana wouldn't be back until the light faded or the wine bottle she had snatched from the table was empty. The blonde took a moment to glance out of the window and reasoned that the summer night's brightness would certainly win out over their collective alcohol reserves, even if her friend was able to locate some more liquor from somewhere. The girl stepped out onto the porch, overlooking the beach, and took a seat, forcing herself to keep her line of sight away from the footsteps that were clearly visible in the sand. "I'm not going after her." It had all gone to hell so quickly that her head was spinning, and the unwise mixture of wine and beer wasn't exactly helping. In that instant, Quinn made the decision that if she was going to feel like shit tomorrow she might as well get all her vices lined up in a neat little row and retrieved the carton of cigarettes from the house. She hoped that smoking would calm her like they usually did, yet despite feeling steadily more dulled, she was aware that it was hopelessness that filled her, not tranquillity. "Fuck feelings, fuck communication, fuck growing up and most of all, fuck sobriety!" Quinn exclaimed into the growing shadows and settled down to obliterate all the events of the evening from her consciousness.

Her eyes were closed, so the cloying sweetness of cigar smoke found her before the slurred words or the stumbling steps did. She smiled in spite of herself because her best friend was back and she couldn't be anything other than relieved about that. Hazel spheres grew accustomed to the change in light and Quinn discovered that it couldn't be as late as her body clock had calculated. Her smile widened only to die away, repelled by the loud call. "You started the party without me, Fabray? I shouldn't have ditched that random girl who knows how to share, for your selfish ass, huh?" Santana had clearly found another celebration to hijack because she was a lot drunker than Quinn, and given the girl she had mentioned, she'd been all too happy to gravitate towards the festivities. The blonde scowled. There was apparently to be no apology. She waited for reconciliation and in its place the only interaction she was rewarded with involved the Latina leaning perilously across the pile of empty bottles and cigarette stubs, to rip her neglected beer from her hand.

"It's nice to see you too." Quinn muttered sullenly under her breath, replacing the bottle with a tiny brown replica.

Santana wouldn't sit still fidgeting much like she had herself in the kitchen earlier. The dark haired girl waved her arms wildly as she advanced toward Quinn again. "Hey, no! Don't get me wrong, I am sorry!" She declared. Her voice was too loud, but there was unmistakable sincerity beneath the haze and bravado that cheered the blonde a little. "Stay there, I'll prove it." The dark haired girl vanished then, and time marched to the slow beat of Quinn's languid heart. She couldn't bear it, in fact, she almost followed, her imagination fearing the worst. Consolation arrived in the form of a battered acoustic guitar. Quinn grinned, her thoughts falling short with regards to the idea of a serenade. Her best friend hadn't sung for years so far as she knew and the guitar that now rested at her feet hadn't made an appearance in even longer. The blonde had assumed it had been listed on eBay or left to gather dust in Lopez attic; she certainly hadn't spied it in the trunk of the car. However, this was one secret that she didn't begrudge.

She recognised the lyrics straight away from countless plays on Brittany's compilation CD. It was difficult to know whether to laugh or cry. Overwhelmed, Quinn almost stopped the performance, unwilling to let another moment be smothered by the presence of her and frustrated that all roads forever led back to the other blonde. She couldn't bring herself to interrupt though because the Latina was finally unburdening herself, like it or not, Santana was opening up. She had gotten her wish. Short of clamping her hands over her ears, Quinn was unable to shut out the words. At first, this seemed like torture, but as the second verse began, she finally understood what it was that Santana had been struggling to reveal. Her eyes flew open and she rushed to throw her arms around the girl. The song died off Santana clung tightly to her too, the guitar abandoned. It wasn't important that the song was unfinished since she had gotten the message now. The blonde couldn't believe that she hadn't realised that it was her relationship with the other girl, and not Brittany's that was at the heart of this song. The sand underneath her fingernails acted as a testament, literally because she was here, on this beach, because of Santana but also in every other sense.

Quinn opened her mouth to say a million things, but her air was cut off. Her eyes widened as full and faintly chapped lips pressed against hers. It was a few seconds of chaste contact, that was all, and yet the kiss somehow eclipsed everything. It was unlike any that she had ever had before, the polar opposite of her experiences with the numerous men of her past. The blonde was stunned into inaction by the familiarity of it and how right it felt. Her taste buds were flooded with sweetness and an undercurrent of spice, and she couldn't believe the softness and warmth of the other girl's mouth. Unable to react, she let the rhythm in her chest guide her. It registered that they were crossing a line once Santana's mouth opened and her tongue slid through the gap in Quinn's already parted lips. The peck had become dangerous and irrevocable then and the blonde's heartbeat signalled the danger. She registered what her body was telling her even as her mind drew the comparison to their childhood clinch, and all the ways that this kiss differed from the one before. It was terrifying and unnerving to see the reality spelled out for her like that, and the girl felt her world explode, hard shards of fear and doubt splintering off to spear her in the chest as her limbs unwittingly betrayed her and melted into the Latina's, curling closer and closer.

"I can't…" She stammered, already clambering up. Quinn avoided looking at the other girl's widely dilated pupils, knowing what she would see contained in those huge orbs. She started running wildly, ignorant of her direction or destination, concerned only with speed. She had to get away; it was as simple as that.

The blonde didn't realise that she was still gripping a beer bottle until she felt the lukewarm liquid slosh against her fist. She dropped the bottle, sinking down beside it. Her shaking hands quickly left their imprint the wet grains, rather than constructing a castle, her fingertips wrote frantically as though she had been holding the pages of her journal. The only thing that mattered was making sense of the jumble of thoughts and emotions, obviously she erased the meaningless loops and curls of the letters a moment later, aware that the only feasible solution would be to go back and speak her sincere apologies aloud and lay out the mess that her head contained. She needed to talk to Santana rationally and not let herself hide. Her inner voice recommended another course of action though, and Quinn followed it. She had to admit that it would be less damning to seek out the waves, who couldn't answer back. Therefore without further delay, Quinn picked up the formerly disregarded bottle and chased the sea rather than the girl. When she got there, it occurred to her that she had no pen or paper on which to write a message, so she had to hope that intent was enough as she mouthed a silent prayer to a god which she wasn't sure genuinely beyond the clouds, and cast the bottle out. It was all she had to offer. There were no stars and yet Quinn wished hard for a long, dreamless sleep that would carry her away. Unfortunately, irrespective of her yearning, the girl didn't awake to the warmth of the early morning sun beaming down against her face, refreshed and able to ignore all the physical side effects of her night of excess. Instead, with the emotional trauma weighing too heavy on her, she lay with her back against the cool sand, perfectly still and yet utterly alert.

Quinn should have stayed gone. She hadn't been in the company of the shore for more than a few moments as far as she knew, before opting to retrace her steps back to where she'd left Santana. The blonde hadn't anticipated the regret of putting aside each strong instinct that told her to keep running, any more than she'd expected Santana to find someone else to fill the void she'd created. She tried to turn on her heels and stumbled inelegantly, which only served to broadcast her ill-timed presence even more. She cringed in the same instant that the Latina whipped around, smiling falsely. "Look who found me!" She declared, her arms still tightly intertwined with the unknown girl that Quinn assumed must have been the same random from hours ago. It hurt her to meet Santana's gaze and she started backing away, moving in the direction of the house. "Where are you going?" The Latina was horrifically drunk, but her heartbreak and confusion was painfully evident nonetheless.

Quinn swallowed hard "I can't sit here and watch as you motorboat some stranger's fake rack!" She yelled, her voice cracking. She hated the jealousy that dripped from every syllable of that statement.

"I'm just trying to salvage something from this weekend!" The other girl screamed back just as desperately.

"I can't do this right now…"It was too late to eradicate herself from that strip of sand though, Santana had her pinned by the force of her stare and when she deemed that to be insufficient, she grabbed Quinn's shoulder forcefully to make her point. She didn't shy away from the possessiveness that the alcohol had summoned this time; she deserved the overzealous bruises and whatever else would be thrown her way. "I fucking love you, okay?" The blonde replied. It was a whimper that nearly brought them both to their knees.

"But you aren't in love with me, are you?" The distinction was the clincher and the girl let silence answer for her. Quinn was a master at both damage limitation and avoidance. The blonde had practiced both over the years until they came effortlessly, fooling everyone. She never meant to hurt anyone, not the people in her life or herself, yet she consistently made the same mistakes over and over. The bottom line was that she neither knew what she wanted, nor was equipped to deal with her desires. She couldn't vocalise what she didn't understand and her mind was currently a mass of puzzling contradictions. Nevertheless, it killed her to hear the ragged sobs that coated the Latina's throat as she pleaded again for the other girl to acknowledge her. "Why is it so impossible for you to say anything when I need you too?"

"I'm sorry, San…" The words hung in the air uselessly, too softly spoken to reach the person they were intended for, and as ever, being uttered too late to heal the wounds. "It's because I'm broken." She finally whispered back. "I'm scared. I think that there are wires crossed in my soul." However, Santana wasn't listening; she was far away, leaving Quinn alone as she dragged a different drunken blonde along the narrow path towards home.


	11. Chapter 11

**Again, I won't bore you with unnecessary notes because I'm content to let this update speak for itself. I may have taken some liberties with the timeline, I'm not sure, and my head is a little fuzzy on the details, so I urge you to please indulge me if I have.**

**Also, it probably doesn't matter to most of you, but I wanted to share that 'Nasty Canasta's usual' is in reference to the 1951 Looney Tunes cartoon **_**'Drip-Along Daffy'**_**. It fits my head cannon that whilst Quinn and Puck were living together during the pregnancy, the pair of them would stay up late watching TV, especially cartoons, hence Puck giving the drink its nickname because of its strength etc.**

She couldn't stay at home; her head had barely connected with the pillow before it began anew, the replay of that night. Knowing that she had brought in on herself didn't make the situation any easier to bear as Quinn was forced to screw her aching eyes closed against the sobs, because whilst her tear ducts were empty, it didn't stop the burning. In the same way that it didn't matter that miles separated her from the paper thin walls of that beach house, or that in fact, time had marched on since the taxi ride that had whisked her away at first light. It was beside the point, time and space only moved however best to torment her, nothing was linear, without sense, and the blame was all hers to hold. No matter what, the blonde couldn't escape the repercussions of her denials any more than she could have avoided the humiliation of pleading with her mother to pay the cab fare upon arriving home.

It didn't help to hide away, sheltered beneath the artificial darkness of her bedroom blinds and keep her cell phone screen lifelessly blank. For once, the girl needed noise; she embraced the chaos that was waiting to swallow her if she just sought it out. Therefore, mind made up, that was exactly what she did, and Quinn didn't even bother to take a second to shower before taking only what she could fit into her handbag and fleeing the stillness. The club she wandered into was nondescript, generic enough that she would have passed it by any other time, which only made it more perfect for her now. Literally Quinn's only criteria were that the doors were still open and the price of admission wouldn't bankrupt her. She rushed against the wall of bodies, screaming against the synthetic night offered by the club walls. It was simple to keep moving, to close off everything except her primary instincts, but that didn't mean it was easy to forget. Her back-up plan instinctively kicked in, and she pressed herself against any warm body, frantically reaching for bulging biceps, the bigger the better. Each day was a carbon copy of this initial blue print, and yet, depressingly, they all concluded in the same way. The black hole wasn't patient, and it was always there. Quinn thought if she tried harder she could erase this trend and start again. The blonde approached guys in earnest, switching the packed dance floors for dusty bar stools. She told herself that if Santana wanted to push her away by getting under someone else, then she would too. It was an approach that she thought she had put behind her in those early college years, yet picking up the techniques again were as effortless as remembering those forgotten vocal scales or pirouettes of her youth.

It was usually depressingly straightforward to engage a dark eyed stranger. After all, even now, the wannabe rock star was still her usual type and the girl knew exactly how to play it. Hazel orbs lingered in an uncompromisingly seductive stare, drawing him in, ripe for the picking. The blonde smirked, unafraid that the smile didn't reach her eyes to warm them because it was never really noticed by her prey. They saw what they wanted to and took what they needed, and she was grateful of that. The cluelessness of men was usually a source of annoyance, but she clutched it like a blessing during the initial flurry of repetitive nights. However, she didn't anticipate getting in deep enough to drown. Her strategy hadn't worked any better than the countless others; she was trapped in the wrongness of it all, lost without the will to claw free. She begged her body not to betray her, but she couldn't make it work. Quinn couldn't let go, even though it had doomed them, she couldn't let Santana's kiss be stolen from her. She pushed the nameless, faceless guys away, always using a degree force that surprised them both. She went home alone again and again, left with nothing but an empty wallet and the lasting taste of repulsion and the bitter sting of self-loathing that reared up from the depths like a forsaken friend. She told herself that it was for the best that she ran before she could add another act to her growing list of mistakes and yet she didn't hesitate in triggering it all again the next time the loneliness bit her. There was no embarrassment; even the humiliation of the string of curses which followed her abrupt exit didn't faze the girl. The verbal blows didn't even hit. It didn't bother her to be called a tease, or worse, at least until the word connected with the image of Santana's face. All roads led back to her treatment of the Latina, she couldn't escape.

Wallowing hadn't worked, and distraction was no go either, she decided that it was time to for an upgrade. The problem was that, although she changed the scenery on numerous occasions, unable to sit still almost, the circumstances remained the same. All that the girl had succeeded in doing was swapping her family's cold indifferent for the unfamiliar arms of strangers. Quinn was neither soothed nor free. There was only one destination left, the uncharted outskirts of a town that was otherwise lacking the concept of anonymity. The bar in question she had visited before, during those nights when her visits home had been memorable for all the wrong reasons and she'd been left with a lot to erase. It was considered last on her whistle stop tour of wretchedness, the failsafe for when all her other methods let her down. The place guaranteed comfortable isolation, with the added bonus of a barman that might possess a slightly more sympathetic ear and as everybody always bleated that talking was only second to time with regards to healing wounds, the blonde decided she had nothing more to lose by fleeing to this final sanctuary. Clearly she had no chance of such therapeutic endeavours if she stayed in the bosom of Judy Fabray, her mother was a dragon that guarded the door, capable only of barricades and flat dismissals. The time for those methods had been and gone, and besides, it was only useful if Santana had wanted to come in, which the former cheerleader had made obvious she wasn't about to do.

So it was that Quinn found herself staring impassively as line after line of the clear liquid was poured into shot glasses. Her order was summoned from deep in the recesses of her memory, a legendary concoction which Puck had consistently referred to as 'Nasty Canasta's usual' although the drink's real name was 'Four Horsemen.' Nobody in their high school circle had ever actually tasted one, but the recipe calling for equal parts tequila, Jagermeister, Rumple Minze and Bacardi 151, sounded fierce enough to warrant such a nickname. In the flesh, the drink more than lived up to its reputation, whilst the glasses didn't hop along the bar, spitting and burning, the fumes alone were enough to make her gag. As she threw back the first offering and the bar's reflection assured her that she hadn't become a green-faced Loony Tune, the blonde felt an odd mixture of pride and disappointment. She wondered if the mohawked boy would be pleased to see her now, although she felt no joy in the prospect of him egging her on in any endeavour. The past was the past for a reason, and nostalgia was better buried since it altered nothing and only seemed to cause her chest to ache dully. She was trying so hard to be unfeeling.

"Here's to taking black out drinking to a whole new level." She muttered, remembering the Latina's previously ill-fated strategy. It had gotten her into the mess; there was worse logic than hoping it could get her out. The fragile solace at the bottom of a glass was better than none, or so she surmised. There were no more tears left to cry and no consolations to be found under the stifling four walls of a bedroom that she didn't belong in. Her house wasn't a home, any more than the rest of Lima proved welcoming. Quinn raised her second shot. "How many brain cells can I kill tonight?" The memories weren't doing her any favours by staying around and to say that she could cope with losing some was the understatement of the century. She smiled, draining that mouthful and dispatching the next just as swiftly. The grizzled owner grinned knowingly, tipping her a small salute at the words he had overheard. She wasn't sure if he remembered her or just agreed with her sentiments in general, but either way she didn't acknowledge the man beyond sliding a crumpled set of bills in his direction.

Quinn Fabray was a girl on a mission, her goal was nothingness, and she willing rushed headfirst towards the chemical oblivion. She didn't have to wait too long. The blonde considered herself hardened, and yet, after the 4th drink, her world started blurring at the edges. She didn't stop, it didn't worry her that her throat tasted like turpentine soaked sponge that had caught a rogue match, and Quinn simply focused on the way that in the haze everything was utterly inconsequential. It wasn't like she could see straight or make wise decisions anyway, if she could, she wouldn't be alone propping up the corner of some badly lit watering hole, she'd be with Santana and whether they were watching trashy 50's B-movies or reading poetry in the moonlight, she'd have enjoyed every minute. Unfortunately she only had solitude and regrets to fall back on; missing her best friend had progressed beyond a simple physical pain that niggled at her senses. The feeling was a deafening roar, which couldn't be drowned out. She tasted the salt of her tears before she felt them falling, but there was no relief in the realisation that her silent ally, the barman, was combing her cell phone for a suitable contact to ring. He patted her arm, it would have been condescending at any other time, but in that moment Quinn was too anaesthetized to care.

"I reckon it's enough for tonight at least, let's get you home. In order to be bright eyed for when the whole sorry charade starts again tomorrow, you'll need all your strength, I suppose." She couldn't argue with that. Regardless of if she chose to call the man wise or foolish, he was right about the endless drudgery that she seemed to consistently condemn herself to.

"Don't call my parents." The blonde pleaded, resembling the shadow of a wayward teen long past. Even in her current state, she comprehended a sufficient amount, enough to realise that come the morning, the fates would deal her another heaped spoonful of shame upon waking. There weren't enough Hail Mary's in existence to absolve her of yet another discretion like this. He shrugged, happy to comply if it meant she would leave sooner rather than later. "Call…" She faltered, because when it came down to the wire, who else was there waiting in her corner. Rachel, her second choice, might as well have been a continent away, sleeping contentedly in her New York apartment. "Oh fuck it, it doesn't even matter." It was irrational, but nevertheless, she hoped that he would call Santana. She witnessed the fuzzy form of her best friend scooping her up, picturing it so vividly in her mind's eye that she could actually feel the other girl's arms around her, smell the calming scent of her hair that always evoked memories of oaky autumn woodland. Smiling, Quinn collapsed into the the embrace and let it prop her up, feeling safe and warm. "I missed you." The blonde finally whispered brokenly.

The response, however, was not the one that she craved. The voice came from far away, but it was unmistakably Russell's and each vowel dripped heavily with pity, causing the bile to rise in Quinn's throat. Everything about the scene that was unfolding was wrong. "Oh, sweetheart, what am I going to do with you?"

Quinn cried out in reply, she wasn't just drunk, she was obliterated, and the girl couldn't stop her tongue from running away from her, the words tearing madly from her throat. "There is nothing to be done with me, daddy. I can't be fixed. I'll never be the daughter you want." An awkward hush fell over them after the outburst and they both let it fester. She didn't expect her father to contradict her because even bordering on comatose she could read his mind clearly, and adding any more scorn herself would only deepen the cracks. Additionally, she doubted that she could have prevented her herself from spilling every secret about Santana, thereby making things worse. Staying quiet was better, silence wouldn't make her father think she was gay before she had even begun to label her own feelings, or cause a final irredeemable black mark against her already tarnished name. Her reputation was so black that she couldn't hope to cleanse it. Quinn had fallen too far and too hard in every sense. Nevertheless, it was still difficult to keep it all inside when her self-control had been left in the dregs of those glasses. There was no off switch anymore.

"Are these hysterics because Susan Pierce phoned your mother today, honestly I thought we were past all that business." Her head suddenly weighed a thousand tonnes; unable to balance on her neck, but somehow she swerved her eyes to survey her father, scouting for the tiny flicker of a lie. There was no deception to be found, and in disbelief, the girl counted on her fingers as her worse fear was confirmed. Her mind refused to wrap itself around the news. It wasn't correct, it couldn't be, no matter how she tallied it, the dates were wrong. It was too soon. They were supposed to have more time. The only answer, since her father wasn't lying, was that the baby must have been born early.

"What, why didn't you call me?" Quinn sobered up instantaneously, the news like a bucket of cold water, and she shivered at the impact, willing her father not to continue. In spite of her whispered prayers though, he made his indignant speech anyway.

"So that odd girl that you went to high school with has had her baby, that doesn't give you license to-" She didn't hear the rest, letting the asphalt catch her. The blonde pressed her cheek to the pitted surface of the parking lot, curling inwards, refusing the man's attempts to pull her back up. She knew it wasn't coherent and yet her mind visualised perfectly every detail of the other blonde in a hospital room that reflected an overcast Ohio sky rather than the bright LA sun until their faces merged together. Brittany became Quinn herself and the squirming pink buddle she carried suddenly had a mop of blonde curls and curious hazel eyes. She recoiled too late, pressed so tightly against the ground that she almost melted into the tarmac.

It was an unlikely miracle, but she was able shut it all off somehow, the horrific slideshow; Brittany wasn't lying empty handed in room 309, crying her eyes out. That wasn't her former friend's story, it was nobody else's. The girl would get her happy end at the expense of everything and everyone. That thought was the clincher that encouraged Quinn to swallow her pride. She hated asking anything of Russell but she was left without a choice. "Daddy, you have to take me to Santana's, right now." She stared him straight in the eye as she shakily stood and brushed herself off, willing to repeat her impassioned plea as often as necessary if it convinced him.

"It's late, the only place I'm taking you is home, and straight to bed before church in the morning."

He was like stone, unwavering and immovable. He gripped her arm like a vice, leading her towards the car, undoubtedly he underestimated that his daughter's stubbornness matched his. Quinn shrugged him off. "Then give me my keys, I'm not kidding, I have to go!" It was almost a shriek, making her sound frantic and foolish to the few stranglers sharing the parking lot, but she didn't concern herself with her image. There was only one thing that mattered, and she would get there even if she had to walk barefoot. The blonde wasn't stupid; the last thing she wanted was to drive in her present state. She wasn't sure that she could even without the impediment of the liquor and the ever present veil of smudged mascara clinging to her eyelids. The girl still wore the scars of her last distracted highway dash, glistening like a collection of silver half moons, a constant reminder of the dangers of distraction. On the other hand, the blonde was backed into a corner and running out of options. If she didn't leave now, the Latina's scars would be a lot deeper than hers.

Her father shook his head, voicing his disappointment with a single exhale of breath. Quinn didn't stick around for the lecture, she started walking, meaning to hail a cab that she couldn't pay for. It had begun to rain, but the driving sheets of water bouncing off the pavement were reflected on as being of as little consequence to the girl as her means for dealing with the driver's running metre. Santana's face blasted through her swimming vision, clouding over everything else. Therefore, dogged determination kept her going as the cold ate into her bones. It woke her up, cleansing her bloodstream. There couldn't have been a more effective detox than what she had experienced in the last few minutes.

"Quinn, wait!" She didn't turn around as her father caught her up. There was no time to soothe his feelings, even if she had wished to appease him in any way. Before that night she wouldn't have dreamt that all attempts at father- daughter bonding could grow anymore irrelevant in her eyes and yet here they were. She didn't stop. Without losing stride, Russell pressed a tiny roll of bills into her hand to pay the fare. Neither of them spoke again, and once he was sure that she had a firm grip on the money, the man set off back the way he had come. Quinn didn't spare him a second glance; she'd finally deciphered the glow of headlights in the gloom, raising her hand, the girl followed the beams, dripping with every step.

Santana finally opened the door after what felt like hours of knocking only to close it again, or at least that had been her intention, before the blonde forced her foot into the gap. It didn't matter to Quinn if the Latina continued to try and force her out, pressing the wood hard against her ankle, she couldn't feel anything anyway. Her body was numb. "Just leave; it's what you're good at." There was no fire in the girl. Her brown eyes were bottomed out, hollow.

"I deserve that, but no, I won't." Quinn retorted, keeping her voice and her gaze, steady. "Not this time."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Just a couple of things to say. Firstly, I'm sorry that this has taken so long to materialise, I can't even blame lack of inspiration or writers block or any of that really because the notes for this chapter and the next have been patiently waiting for as long as you have, my only excuse is that real life sucks and I promise I'll try and do better next time.**

**Secondly, I'm sorry if this chapter isn't what you were expecting. Even I, at times, think to myself 'who do I have to kill to get some fluff up in here?' but that's just not how this story works. When we eventually get there, if you can hang in, I swear I'll do my best to make the pay off worth it. That's all really. Enjoy the update. I know it acts as little more than a lead in for the next chapter, which I hope I'll be speedier with, but I hope there is still some good stuff to be found. Let me know if you agree.**

Everything felt wrong. The Latina didn't fiercely defend the battle lines she had drawn across the threshold with crossed arms, in fact, Santana admitted defeat too readily. She didn't even try to pretend that she hadn't given up. The blonde had arrived willing to shoulder all the wrath that usually accompanied any hard knocks that the universe dealt her friend, but instead she was presented with a wilted stranger. Santana Lopez didn't curl passively into a ball, not ever. It hadn't happened in 24 years of life, she came out of the womb spitting venom, the epitome of badass. Everybody else usually paled in comparison, even boys like Puck became pretenders, and yet here they both were, and the ease with which the blonde was able to step inside made her want to cry. It didn't feel like a victory at all, even in the smallest or most egotistical of senses, and for once she wasn't glad to get her way. Quinn ventured hopelessly anyway, digging for some tiny spark she could cling to. "San, please can we-"

"I don't want to talk, not about any of it." It was a toneless croak, reminiscent of all situations past, before the intervening and somewhat morale boasting margaritas, during which she had tried to engage her mother in meaningful dialogue. Quinn shuddered. There were enough zombies in her life already and that was before the girl even dared to include the number of times she'd forced herself into that cast, deadening herself to each unsavoury experience time after time.

The immediate solution seemed simple and infinitely complicated all at once. The blonde edged closer, both determined and terrified, but convinced that she had to do _something_. The air within that formerly comforting space felt stagnant and she couldn't stand it. Therefore whilst shock tactics may have been the last refuge of the desperate, she wasn't above using them. "So we won't talk." She rasped softly, not quite believing she had managed to say the words aloud. Her tone wasn't as confident as Quinn would have ideally aimed for but at least she had succeeded in fulfilling step one, Santana's eyes widened, darkening so that they were almost their usual chocolate shade. It was a relief that the pools that connected them weren't muddied anymore, so much so that the blonde nearly crumpled, letting a tiny smile escape. Realistically however, she couldn't afford to slip up like that and quickly contorted her expression into what she prayed passed for a seductive smirk.

The girl was aware that she could be the spark that reignited those flickering pupils into liquid fire; all she required was a chance, a single moment, the collision of their lips again. All the same, her theories didn't equate to an effortless follow through, initiating the next move was still an exercise in daring, and had the girl bothered to analyse it, Quinn would have been terrified nonetheless. Good intentions had a way of backfiring, life had taught her that. Yet, since inertia wasn't an option, she let her muscle memory do the work. The blonde couldn't deny that fear of recriminations would never smother her other motives, not when, separate from the desire to awaken her lifeless friend, existed the utterly selfish justification driving her, the inner voice telling her she wanted the climax of these shared moments so desperately and acknowledging that she had thought of nothing else since the beach house.

"I can't…" Santana tore up her well laid plans; it was all broken by two faltering words. In return, Quinn shook her head, she stayed stubbornly resolute, she had to. There was nothing else to be done.

"Let me take care of you, please, I just-" Thinking on her feet, she cast aside her own pleas in a sweep of tongue. She couldn't hear another no; Quinn tore through the idea of a potential rebuke in the same way that she disregarded the Latina's buttons, as a hurdle in her way, replacing the threat of more protests with sounds that morphed from yielding maybes, to a crescendo of loud moans, which undoubtedly could only signal a distinctly positive confirmation from them both. It wasn't so hard to get her yes; seduction was still about pressure and friction, irrespective of the fact that Santana was clearly not a boy. The blonde may not have done this before, but she wouldn't stop trying until she achieved the desired reaction and ultimately, the eagerness trumped lack of experience.

Quinn's fingers cupped lace, gently moving it aside to expose a caramel coloured nipple, the caress occurring simultaneous to the shifting movement of her thigh as it worked to forge a path between the other girl's legs, closer and closer until enough access was granted for her to press against the centre of the Latina. That wasn't a problem. Similarly, it was easy to treat the shorts as if they weren't there, the blonde was used to disregarding barriers of cloth, but everything else was alien. There was so much heat pulsing through the nonexistent gaps between them and she couldn't tell if the desire was radiating from Santana or herself anymore. All she knew was that her head was swimming and each snatched breath stirred her heart to dance in her chest following the erratic yet practiced rhythm of her best friend's mouth, and that the synchronisation of those two things seemed perfectly right.

Her eyelids finally opened to skin that she had seen a million times before, in just about every setting, for instance if the Latina was a map, she knew every curve as though her mind had sketched them there herself. Nothing was new, she'd seen it all before, laid bare in brightly lit locker rooms or in the dappled sunlight of summer days, she shouldn't have been surprised, she'd always recognised every mole and freckle as easily as her own, and yet, it was suddenly hard to breathe. It felt different, as though someone had altered the lens on her camera, or the light had changed forever. On the one hand, she was hungry to reveal more, on the other, she was worried that if she did, a compass might be needed to navigate. At once, Quinn's bravery felt tenuous, falling away with every piece of clothing she shred, as though the feeling was wrapped up in the denim and the wool instead of inside her.

"I mean it, Q, stop this! The action of Santana pushing her away was as abrupt as the sensation of feeling lost. In the gulf suddenly created between them Quinn froze, she wondered if the girl had sensed the tremble of her fingers, the several beats her heart had just missed, or whether the brakes being put on was inevitable anyway, regardless of how sure or petrified she was. "You shouldn't be here, you don't know how to be with someone, if you had any idea, if you were aware of anything at all besides yourself, you'd realise that mindless sex is the last thing I need right now." The other girl's fingers brushed her lips for a moment before she began shrugging on her clothes, Quinn was convinced that the gesture was performed utterly subconsciously but she had no clue how to decode the significance. In place of an answer, her body sighed. "I can't lose another person to a mistake which I knew I was making just because."

"This was never going to be meaningless sex, Santana." Hazel eyes, wide and terrified, gazed upward, locking on to validate words which alone could never be fully trusted. "I love you!"

The response wasn't a romantic one. The invitation of Quinn's extended arm was ignored and she fell awkwardly against the tabletop with nothing to slow the force of her descent. In the moment, the blonde barely registered any gratitude that it was wood rather than glass that rose to meet her. "We already tried that remember. You made your feelings quite clear. I can't do this anymore, it's enough. Even if you care, it won't be long until you freak out again. I know you'll run, I'm not sure when exactly, maybe it'll be when you take me to meet your parents since I doubt that Judy will let me call her mom, or perhaps even later tonight after I'd dared to let you into my bed. It doesn't really matter, I refuse all of it. It hurts too much to keep getting my heart shattered by the only person left that I trusted. "

"I'm sorry." It was so pathetic that she wanted to scream, to curse herself and Brittany S Pierce to the heavens.

"Save it, the truth is, you aren't gay and I'm never going to be your boyfriend, so…"

The sentence was different, although it tapered off, it didn't echo of giving in. In contrast, the Latina appeared to possess levels of conviction that she hadn't seen in a while. It was what she'd wanted, moments before, but now the attitude scared Quinn. She didn't want to scrutinise the way that the brown eyes looked to her like they were waving goodbye as they sought her out. "Please don't…" She wasn't sure how to finish, what she was even asking for. "You can't blame me for B going into labour prematurely. I may have fucked everything up, but even I didn't cause that!" Every syllable was thick with desperation. It was a hopeless circle, an unnecessary retrace of steps; they both knew they had gone far beyond the topic of the other blonde, however, Quinn couldn't let go. She convinced herself that she would cling to the shards of what they had even as the splinters caused blood to rush down her palms. She'd take all the bad, and more, pushing past it for the meagre glimpses of the good that she'd nearly destroyed. They could get it all back, she believed, otherwise she never would have turned away when Santana tried to close the door.

"You know what you did cause though. You really hurt me and I can't forget it, I won't." The whisper was more powerful than a million raised voices.

"What do you want to say? I'll say anything; please don't leave me here alone. I need you. I miss you. I fucking love you." As she released the last broken sentiment, tears rushed forth and the Latina came with them. It was hard to know which was more painful, the sobs that shook Quinn's frame or the resigned sigh of Santana's that accompanied them. She carefully helped the blonde to her feet at any rate and neither said a word as she tenderly addressed the abrasion on her elbow and scrutinised the ugly bruise flourishing behind the hem of her skirt. That was the way their friendship had always worked, they blew up and just as quickly repented against the backdrop of the swirling devastation. Santana's fury had caused them, and her regret cleaned them up, as simple as that, they never knew how to let the dust settle.

"You need to go. Look at us, right now, this is my point. In spite of everything, I'm looking after you again. I have to start worrying about myself. I'm not going to drown with you anymore." In response, Quinn sniffed loudly, burying her face in her sleeve, the other girl continued as if the interruption hadn't occurred. "I don't want to be mean, I don't expect you to believe me, but I don't. I'm sick of hurting each other. All of this, it has made me understand something. Maybe you've done me a favour, I've been stuck in a rut, _Breadstix _was never meant to be forever."

"What about me, am I forever?" The question she hadn't known she was holding onto burst out and the silence and uncertainty rallied against it. Every syllable that was left unuttered felt like a million. In an attempt to conceal the magnitude of what she'd said, the blonde launched into another rant, unable to stomach that the only sounds she could hear were shallow breaths. It was the worst kind of confirmation. "This is me you're talking to, not your parents or your brother. Ditch the brave face, I'm not buying it. You don't fool me with your grown up act. The whole 'if it's logical, it must be right' thing is just more of your bullshit. You say I'll run, what the fuck do you call this, what you're planning to do?" The blonde reached forward unflinchingly, trapping Santana's chin between her fingertips. "I don't give a shit if this makes me a hypocrite; I'm going to say it…quit trying to make yourself hollow. Just let it out, everything you feel, about B, me, it's time. Hit me if you have to-"

"I'm not going to hit you, Q, but if you want to see an explosion, you can have one." She was pulled to her feet again, harder this time, and dragged her across the room. Santana waited, glaring at the magnolia surface until the other pair of eyes followed. Quinn exhaled sharply at the rupture in the plaster, acknowledging that it was the exact size of a delicate fist. For the first time since she arrived, her attention was lavished upon the scabbed knuckles. The pieces finally fit. "Happy now?" The Latina spat. The question was rhetorical, and thus she took the force of the unspoken words out on her bottom lip. The air tasted metallic.

Finally, like an actress practicing her lines, Quinn found her voice. "So leave then, don't let me keep you imprisoned in this hellhole, get your happy ending if it exists. Travel far from Lima; go back to school, whatever. I won't stand in your way anymore, I'm out." There were no choruses of loud knocks to herald the departure, not even the slamming of the door; the blonde left without a sound and chalking up the wins and losses, all that seemed to count was that Santana was the last girl standing, alone on her respective side of the barrier.

The pavements were still rippling mirrors and she had no headlights to guide her now. Instead, the starless sky gave her only infinite blackness, a pool of spilled ink, as if she had already attempted to blot out the events of the day in her journal. Quinn's stomach rebelled before her mind was able, emptying itself and offering up acid to replace the copper lining her mouth. The girl wasn't grateful, painfully doubled over, gasping against brick, she wanted the numbness back. For a while, she stood stock still and tried to force it, fix the veil in place like she had a million times before. It should have been easy, she was Quinn Fabray, closing herself off was what she did best, a coping mechanism that through the years had become as engrained as evening prayers, setting in long before she had managed to do the former without prompting. The strategy had kicked in when she was 6 years old, on the night that Frannie came into her room, turned up the radio and left again without a word, and hadn't abandoned her since then. The blonde knew that her older sibling had already fled through the window, and thus having been denied the comfort of her sister's skirts, from that instant, she discovered her own method.

As the years went by, when tested, her version of control proved more effective than the temporary reprieved offered by the rebellion of pushing an untouched slice of apple pie across the table. The feeling she was granted when she denied herself things she craved waned, whereas her retreat into blankness could go on and on for as long as necessary. Contrary to some of her old friends' opinions, Quinn could always do comfortably numb effortlessly, without needing red and white polyester, a box of pink hair dye or a Yale acceptance letter as props to hide behind. This time however, her internal shutters were jammed, they wouldn't go down. Unfortunately, the bars would be closing soon, and even if drinking herself back into a stupor again was a viable solution, she wouldn't have taken it. To do that would be like hitting rewind. She was reminded, sweeping a tongue across chapped, battered lips, that this couldn't be a lather, rinse and repeat kind of evening. Her saliva carried the ghost of a taste, a cruel hint of the other girl; there was no erasing Santana Lopez or the passing minutes. She'd just have to feel it. The tears were pointless, but they returned anyway, as unwanted as her presence at the next destination.

Home, for what it was worth, was all she had left. The blonde knew that she'd have no alternative other than to lay awake, waiting for the interruptions of her parents as they raced the church bells and the dawn. To her, such a pursuit was deemed worthy of its own circle in Dante's hell, and despite all the degrees of punishment that she unquestionably deserved for what she had done, there were limits to what the girl could take. The only option left to try was the bathroom cabinet. Raiding Judy's stash had worked before, so far as benefits went, having a hypochondriac for a mother was ranked pretty high and furthermore, as luck would have it, insomnia was the woman's latest aliment. Quinn immediately crossed her fingers for some _Ambien_, but typically, in her time of need, the universe only saw fit to provide _Sonata Oral,_ a mockery. Quinn cursed under her breath, uttering a long line of expletives that didn't make her feel any better before giving up and running the shower, twisting the dial so that the jets of water would get as hot as possible. The mirror clouded first and Quinn was appreciative that her reflection hid not wanting to see the marks of regret on her body.

She woke up to the sound of her phone ringing, and discovered that during the 8 hours that had elapsed, her sister had tried to call her 6 times. "Lucky number 7." She murmured, jabbing ignore. It meant only one thing. Any more sleep was out of the question, so she raced into the kitchen to stage the inevitable confrontation. "How dare you tell Frannie about any of this?!"

"She's your sister, Quinn, she's worried about you. None of us want this situation to set you back." Her father spoke in bored monotone, peering over a stack of papers. The blonde bit her lip, fighting the petty, childish urge to scatter them all out of spite.

"You say that like we're a real family."

"If you'd come to church this morning you'd realise-"

She didn't let him finish. "Don't bother recycling a sermon at me, daddy, we both know that the only thing that connects us is a string of shared DNA." Quinn met his gaze unflinchingly. "Leave Frannie out of my news cycle, I may not have a choice about you and mom wading in, stuck under this roof, but with her, things are different. We both chose distance, and I intend to keep it that way, okay?"

"It's a shame, but if that's how you really feel, I'm sure Frannie will understand. I mean once you sit her down and explain-"

The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told the girl that this wasn't Russell's lame attempt at a joke. He wasn't point scoring, and yet, all the same, her confusion spilled out in a pathetically stunted mumble. "What?"

"Your sister boarded a train 45 minutes ago." There it was spelled out in black and white. Quinn did the math, if Frannie was going to be sitting down to dinner; there was no chance that she'd stick around at home waiting for the spectacle. Fabray family dinners were a circus that she could do without, her nerves were frayed enough already. She was out the door, pyjama pants and un-brushed hair notwithstanding, with only one destination in mind. Quinn couldn't choose her family, but her friends, the people she really loved, were another story. Therefore, rules or not, she was going back. The blonde wasn't naïve enough to believe that everything could be fixed by a dramatic U-turn back to the apartment, but with so little left to lose and nowhere else to run, trying again didn't seem the worse impulsive plan she had ever devised.


	13. Chapter 13

**I'll try and keep this brief because the chapter has grown rather long (I apologise in advance for all the dialogue, it was kind of unavoidable.) and speaks for itself. I had a LOT of issues writing it and I'm not entirely sure that I'm satisfied, but I am happy about where we've reached plot wise and the possibility that I've discussed below (check it out after to avoid spoilers). Let me know what you think, even if it's just to voice your anger lol.**

The Quinn Fabray who raced back to the apartment disappeared once her canvas clad toes ventured beyond the hall. It was instantaneous, the row of neatly packed cardboard transported her, gone was the haunted young woman with an unkempt blonde fringe bathed in stale smoke, she became that devastated teenage girl again. Santana wasn't Beth, but in the moment, they represented the same thing, daring to love only for everything to be snatched away. She was better off when her heart lay weighted like ice in her chest, it was too fragile to be allowed to beat and every connection forged was tenuous. It was her curse and she'd let herself forget what being a Fabray meant, only for the universe to pound the message back into her. The blonde lit a cigarette and watched the smoke rise, anything to evade the sparseness of the place. She missed the striped rug, the clutter that occupied the corners of every memory she had made in these rooms. In isolation, they were just objects and it hurt to think like that because the girl didn't want to speculate on how her loneliness would classify her through the eyes of a casual observer.

"You shouldn't smoke in here." The voice drifted through Quinn's toxic veil.

"What do you care?" The question was draped in a hundred different connotations, and she waited for the other girl to grasp at one and tease it free. The Latina didn't play along though, instead, she shrugged and slid a second cancer stick from the pack. Quinn watched the first inhale with morbid fascination. She couldn't decide if the unavoidable cough should be met with laughter or tears. In the end, she said nothing, casting aside the thought. It was Santana's destructive rite of passage arriving too late, reminding the blonde that she'd stalled, just another girl lost in a desperate rut. There was nothing to celebrate and any effort of commiseration would be phony now. The embers of a failed experiment were ultimately into the other girl's palm after only the second drag.

"What the fuck is the appeal of Menthols anyway, I've never understood it? They'll still kill you just as slowly and they taste like shit!"

"You didn't even give it a chance." Her gaze was unmet; Santana knew that they'd stopped talking about a certain bad habit.

"You should quit…"

"I can't." It was that simple.

"I just don't understand you Fabray, you aren't stupid, in fact you're one of the smartest people I know. Why do you insist on doing something if you know it's wrong, continuing down a path that's so damaging without a second thought?" It was impossible to reply, all Quinn did was think, she couldn't remember a time when she hadn't analysed every little thing offered up to her. That was one of the reasons why she liked novels, the themes and characters were easy to deconstruct, if the other girl couldn't see that, then the issues ran deeper than she thought. The blonde sighed; all these barely concealed innuendos were killing her, but she was scared that candidness would force her friend into silence again.

"They're lights, supposedly low tar, and as it goes, I'm on board for anything that hurts less these days." She finally got her desired eye-contact, but it wasn't what she'd hoped for. Even though they were actually talking about her emotional fuck ups, the girl couldn't help thinking that the glare she was faced with was so reminiscent of the judgemental nature of her best friend's dad. Mr Lopez was always more comfortable in the role of doctor and she'd never forget the way that even as a guest, he used to scrutinise the ingredients of every after practice smoothie and hand her supplements at the door. It had always made Quinn wince to imagine how much further he pushed when it was just the family together, which made her also reflected, somewhat cynically, upon whether the legacy of their parents was seemingly unavoidable. In turn, that notion brought her full circle to the reason that she'd come here, the arrival of Judy II. "Frannie's home." She added quietly, inhaling the poison in order to suppress the anguish that threatened to make itself audible. She poured everything she had into a single lingering glance. "You can't go."

"Oh Q, you're so much better than emotional blackmail."

"I'm not! I'm nothing if you leave me." There was the truth as she saw it, laid out perfectly in black and white.

"Don't you see, that's exactly why I have to go. You're so much better than this and you could be free of all of it, this town, the baggage, all the bullshit, but I can't make the changes for you. I want you to genuinely happy, contentment that truly lasts, not some temporary high that being around me is giving you."

"We've saved each other before, we can-"

Her exclamation went unheeded, bouncing off the Latina's hunched shoulders. "One day, whenever we tell this story, detailing this scene and the time I spent gone, we'll laugh at how we had to go to these lengths and smile at how beautifully it all worked out." A flurry of hot tears blurred the scene and as grateful as Quinn was for the reprieve, she couldn't help wondering if she should clear her vision, given that this imprint of the other girl would her only company before long. She was unsure what was more heartbreaking, a departure that was forever crystal clear, or one where the colours ran at the edges.

The cigarette had become a filter amongst a pile of ash by the time Santana spoke again. "I know I have no right to ask this, but will you drive me to the station, so that we can say goodbye properly?"

She had no safe answer, so the blonde relied on firing back another disarming question. It was tit for tat, petty, but she wasn't about to kid herself that she was beyond it. "Aren't you taking your car?" The other girl looked crestfallen since the response wasn't a positive affirmation she craved, but Quinn didn't care. She couldn't say yes, not yet. There was acceptance that she wasn't prepared to offer contained within that 3 letter word.

"No, it seems so wasteful to fund a car in the city." She didn't ask which, her heart had its suspicions but she was content to leave them as just that. She couldn't hold tight to her denials if she had facts occupying that space. Nevertheless, her heart broke afresh as she pictured the mustang loitering on Mr and Mrs Lopez's driveway. It wouldn't be left to rust, nothing that dramatic, but the very act of abandoning it there was more significant that anything that had happened before. The car had been synonymous with Santana Lopez for years now, and by freeing herself from that association, she was proving her seriousness. The Latina was intent on moving on. Suddenly, Quinn wanted nothing more than to curl up on those leather seats that she had so often complained about, they were too hot and sticky in summer and held the chill in winter, but in that moment, if she'd lain down on the upholstery, she could likely close her eyes and sleep soundly without irritation. It would be the purest form of escape. She desperately longed to hold that signature smell deep in her lungs and pretend that everything else could be that constant.

"Do you call shotgun?" The blonde exclaimed with no mirth at all.

Once the engine started, she kept her gaze in a constant arc, moving from the cars dials and switches to the road ahead, but not once did hazel eyes linger on the passenger seat. She couldn't look; there was injustice in every line and dimple that was poetically illuminated in the afternoon glow. For instance, it seemed so unfair that the station was practically a stone's throw away from the Latina's apartment, yet the ride back to Santana's parents, through streets that she would have to navigate alone was almost twice the distance. It was wrong that the silence was deafening and yet whenever her fingers moved to flood the car with sound, they froze, incapable of doing more than hovering uselessly. Deep down, Quinn knew it was because her mind was storing up these last sounds, the gentle breaths, the grind of teeth, insignificant as they might seem in case she missed them once they were lacking. She always did miss the stupid things and unfortunately, this time, it was a flaw that couldn't be papered over by Santana sending her ridiculous IM's or mementos that meant nothing to nobody else's eye. The girl was the cause and the solution and the blonde didn't know what to do with that, because her friend had never been both.

"I won't stay away indefinitely, I will come home, you know that, don't you?" Quinn shook her head no, because she didn't, not really. In her experience the opposite was generally true, home was to be avoided. She'd employed her fair share of such tactics after all, and she was far from the only one. Instantly, images of other broken friendships loomed, Mercedes, who might have assumed the role of godmother had she been stronger and Sam, who had proved to be an even better friend that he was a boyfriend, which was saying a lot since he was pretty good at the former, until she'd stopped signing into Skype and cut him adrift. Mostly the girl thought of a tiny brunette, and a travel pass she had been too afraid to give. It probably still lay in a drawer in her bedroom somewhere, gathering dust, acting as another failure stacked against her. Everybody left, that was a fact of life, but them staying gone was her fault. She missed them, but after pushing them away hard enough to bruise, the girl couldn't suddenly ask them to turn back around. She didn't deserve that. Of course, such a request was too much to ask, and daring to believe it could be granted would be worse, a fool's errand. Quinn was rendered incapable of looking across at Santana for that same reason; it cut too deeply to believe, either in the truth or the comforting lie. She was done with hope.

She wondered if it was clichéd to predict that another storm was coming, given the circumstances. The sky had darkened but the only thunder was the fanfare of arriving trains as they pulled in. "You're going to see her, aren't you?" Quinn hissed, in a whisper that would have sounded conspiratorial if not for the hostility coating every syllable. It shouldn't be there, but it was, the jealousy rose as a direct consequence of the closeness which also meant Santana didn't need to ask who she was referring to.

"Who else do we know with a place to crash in the bright lights of the big city, rent free?"

It sounded casual, as though the other girl was discussing an impromptu weekend away, not the next phrase of her life. It irked her, the lilt in the Latina's voice, a lightness that didn't exist in the confines of the town Santana was leaving, perhaps it was that, the freedom she glimpsed whilst still shackled by her bad choices, which caused her to bitterly strike out against the fragile rapport. "Are you going to fuck her too?" It was ridiculous to add that word at the end, because they hadn't had sex, for all Quinn's urging, but running to Rachel felt like the worst kind of betrayal. All the same, a glutton for punishment, she listened to the gasp, keeping her eyes downcast so she was allowed to stay ignorant to the damage inflicted by her malicious soul. Gentler and sniffing hard against her sleeve, the blonde added, "Don't make her your rebound girl, okay? Please."

"You don't fucking deserve this, but if it's the only way you'll believe me, then-" There was a pause as the other girl fumbled with the zip of her leather jacket until she could successfully twist and unfasten the pendant hanging at her neck. "Here, take it. I'm serious." Quinn blinked, once, twice, three times, but with each regeneration her best friend was still standing there offering her the most prized possession she had.

"San, your grandma gave you this on your 21st birthday, I can't, and I won't… you haven't taken it off since then, and you shouldn't start now." The girl was thinking that she didn't want this lapse on her conscience, an additional stain to merge and spread, like ink or congealing blood. She felt like a locus, consuming all, beyond even the limits of what the other girl would willingly give and still unsatisfied, always craving.

Santana meanwhile cast aside any inner turmoil shrewdly. "She's dead; I don't think the woman will begrudge a loan, given how important this moment is." Quinn tried to protest further, but the Latina just opened her hand and placed the necklace inside. Everything was already decided. "I need you to keep this for me and that's the end of it." The blonde was left nodding.

"If you pawned it, you'd have a 90 day grace period." She hated the quiet, slow burning optimism that crept out alongside the unexpected statement. Quinn watched Santana's face twist as it hit her she couldn't commit to the timescale. For once, she didn't bother the flesh of her bottom lip; there was no point since there were no uncertainties to get anxious over this time.

"I'm not going to say I'm sorry." Quinn repeated the exaggerated tilt of her head, clinging to the fragile disguise of acceptance. That was what grownups did, after all, civilised goodbyes, sacrificing their own wellbeing for that of someone else. It made her feel sick to the stomach nonetheless that even Finn, as a thoughtless teenage boy, had attempted and achieved marginal success the very thing she could not begin to contemplate. The girl refused to let go, breathless as the Latina's head was turned by the announcements board. "I have to go." She wasn't ready for her world to end.

"Why do I feel like I'm being left languishing on the home front, holding your dog tags, as you go off to fight?" Just when the girl thought the situation couldn't get more deplorable, these mental pictures rose from her subconscious, as if summoned, to make her feel worse. As a post-modern feminist it was everything Quinn rallied against, and the universe knew it.

Santana smiled sadly. "Because every day still feels like a war, doesn't it? I guess something's don't change, but I'm hoping." The blonde couldn't let her own features curve in return, solemnly or not. Her face stayed flat, like the palm that wasn't holding her keepsake, unable to wave. The sky was growling before she found the strength to move again. She took the car back on autopilot, careful to fight the reckless impulses and stealthy numbness that she recognised from that day when she rushed to the chapel. Quinn was back to square one already; she didn't need another crash to reset her. Similarly, that instinct compelled her to wait until the car was safely parked in front of the Lopez house before she reached for her cell phone. There was nothing else to be done. Unfortunately, the futile exercise only provided another lesson in disappointment, Rachel's voicemail was clogged, and she couldn't get through, a story of her life.

A further tell-tale sign of the wretchedness her existence had become was the weave of headlights trailing her. She didn't have to be a genius to figure out who was following, the full beams were redundant without heavy darkness to cut through and thus only a terrible driver would use them before dusk. It was the act of a ridiculously over cautious individual, which funnily enough, was a well established behavioural trait for the eldest Fabray child, earmarking her presence on the quiet streets of Ohio more aptly than a neon sign. It didn't take long for the driver to engage Quinn; she'd barely counted to twenty in actual fact. "Get in the car; dad's foaming at the mouth and I'm exhausted." The voice was sufficient in making her pause temporarily, if not outright halt her gruelling pace. Whereas the soles of sneakers had been battering the pavement, dutifully supplying endorphins to chase away the emptiness, she now hesitated. The change of tempo lasted only a fraction of a second though before the desperation tugged at her heels over again. The desire for escape grew and despite trying to quell the urge to run, Quinn couldn't manage to keep herself still. The sensory overload was inbuilt, formed from an extension of their childish games, a facet of the rounds of cat and Mouse or hide and seek. The association was so strong that she almost expected the next words out of the other girl's mouth to be 'tag you're it.'

Contrary to this, she forced a show of composure, not wanting her sister to get the upper hand so soon. "Tell me again how that's my problem." It wasn't a question, and maybe because it wasn't, Frannie immediately fired back one of her own.

"When did you get so hostile?" It was spoken under her breath, but she caught the words regardless, as she was meant to. The girl jumped on the bait; she hated being patronised more than anything else. Just because her sister was older didn't make her any more experienced, she was sheltered and in the other blonde's view, as such, the princess had lost her right to be superior. She hadn't known real pain or loss, and she was about as far from rock bottom as could be, in her ivory tower. Quinn wished that her sister would just hurry back to her wonderful existence and stay gone. The unfairness of the order of absences and arrivals that had taken place that afternoon stung and she missed Santana keenly.

Her voice cracked, although she raised it indignantly regardless. "Oh, you remember don't you, everything fell apart and well, I don't expect you to care, especially since you were nowhere to be seen, but since you asked, that's when I lost my patented Fabray sparkle. It's a shame isn't it, but it's also ancient history. You made it perfectly clear that you didn't want to be my sister the day that I signed my baby away. It's too late for you to act all aggrieved so you can just swallow your criticisms and whatever else, okay?"

"I did try to tell you that I was sorry-" Quinn couldn't bear to hear the sob stories or fake apologies; she'd had her fill and for her, the extension of the olive branch now, changed nothing. Frannie hadn't been there when it mattered and sisterly concern wasn't the reason she had returned home. Her hand had been forced, same as Quinn's. She could imagine the phone calls her father had likely made to convince her to make the trip. The family home wasn't where the heart was for either of them, and they were united by that truth if nothing else. If only Russell could put as much effort into talking to his youngest daughter as he had bullying the elder into doing his job for him, things might have been different.

"Save it, I'm not coming to dinner."

"Come on, you're running out of allies from what I hear. Where are you going to go, running off to that Jewish boy? Way to stay classy sis, I know you want to piss us all off, but couldn't' you find a less cliché way of screwing up than screwing your ex?"

She had no intention of heading to Puck's house, not when Santana's gift warmed her skin through the thin barrier of her borrowed hoodie, but she'd never admit the truth in the face of such antagonism. "Well, to be honest no, I couldn't because didn't exactly get a lot of notice that you'd be back so I had to resume my black sheep role off the cuff. You wouldn't know, of course, but trust me; it's harder than you'd think. Plus, Puckerman is just sensational between the sheets so it was a win, win. Don't worry though, I'll come up with a better solution next time, something truly wicked that will leave your halo nicely polished in dad's eyes. I pinkie swear."

There was no verbal response to the tirade initially, but just as she was about to celebrate, the engine stalled instead of raced. Suddenly the passenger door hung open in anticipation of her defeat. It was no fun to break and burn without any reaction and Frannie was obviously done, leaving the other girl resigned. It was the same way she felt as the train doors closed and Santana's face became smeared by panes of glass, gradually growing smaller until there was nothing to see. The interior of the rental car didn't fill her nostrils with the scent of anything at all. She took a deep breath and sealed her trap with a soft click.

"Nice to see you too, Lucy Q." Her sister was amused, and Quinn couldn't maintain contact with eyes that were deep chestnut coloured replicas of her own. She didn't want to see the beginnings of a self-satisfied smile on the face she hadn't seen in so long either. "Don't I get any form of civil greeting? It's been a long drive, you know." She didn't miss the less than subtle inference that this unscheduled detour had only made it longer, implying yet another thing that her fault.

Somehow, the blonde found the required energy to shrug despite all of her reserves draining out of her. Since she'd walked a long way without being found, the abandoned mustang wasn't even a tiny speck in the rear-view and she had to resist gripping the pendant tightly because it was the only remaining link to a vanished girl. The only thing stopping her was the acknowledgement that, in front of her nosy sibling, keeping her secret was more highly valued than comfort. The distance between her and Santana was Quinn's alone to mourn; the friend was hers to miss, very few people would understand and the girl driving her home wasn't one of them.

**A/N: If you don't hate me after this, I was wondering about your thoughts regarding an idea of mine. I've been floating around the possibility of doing a companion piece about Santana's time in NYC so if you'd be interested in reading something like that, let me know. There would likely be Pezberry friendship but Quinntana is ALWAYS endgame. **


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